The Past RE-Concluded
by Solitary Confinement
Summary: Just months after Meteor's impact, Midgar is in crisis. A serial killer is on the loose, and no one can seem to track him down. Reeve, the Turks, and a former Soldier are given a chance in the limelight to prove themselves to the new world. *This is an edited, and completed, version of my older story*
1. Chapter One

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

 **: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _February 8th, the 99th day post-Meteor,_

 _The past week has been weighing heavily on my mind. The resurrection of Midgar has gone smoothly. The last of the sector four plate has been cleared and slated for recycling, but the work has gone slower than the previous two sectors. It may be that since this was a dense residential sector that the people are taking the time to recover the dead. I don't remember the last count on bodies found on the plates, only that each one could have been saved if I had been stronger. If only I had warned them sooner._

 _No. I can't let myself be burdened by the past. I did what I could, and now I have to look ahead so that this tragedy can never be repeated._

 _The industry leaders are clamoring for additional manpower to be spared for their private works, adding to an already strained workload for the population. A final census hasn't even been made yet, but I know that only a few ten-thousand of us remain in Midgar. Outside help has been limited, most coming from Kalm and Junon Harbor in shelter and monies for temporary homes and medicine. Junon was kind to send their entire engineering corps to help us out, bearing most of the hard work with their heavy equipment. Wutai hasn't made a decision, not that I expected their help. I haven't received word from Dio about my proposal to include a tax on tickets to the Gold Saucer to help the recovery efforts. I doubt that he will agree to it._

 _But, money is one of my lesser concerns. Crime tops them all._

 _With the loss of the Shin-Ra corporation as a functioning entity, the financial stability in the streets is out of control. Price gouging is happening everywhere, and we don't have the manpower to correct it. People have been volunteering to clear the streets and to repair existing homes for shelter, but some are starting a labor union and demanding a salary for every man who picks up a shovel. Worst of it is finding those willing and honest enough to be deputized and work for the police division and help control this dilemma. People are literally fighting one another over ownership of materials, and some say that certain blocks are too dangerous for anyone to be in because of street gangs. Monster sightings get more frequent with every week that passes. This lack of coordinated security is making it hazardous to live in this city._

 _Now something terrible is hiding in those dark corners of Midgar. One of the lieutenants, acting as chief of police, has told me that he suspects a serial murderer is on the loose. Nine bodies in two weeks were found in sector three. The pattern is what scares me. Each body is found propped against a wall out in the open with no clothes on. There is no discrimination between men or women, age or physical appearance. The two constants in these murders are that the bones in the victims bodies are violently broken, and that their bodies have extremely localized third degree burns. One officer, an ex Shin-Ra security guard, testifies that only materia could cause that kind of damage to human flesh. He also said that it matches rumors he heard about the Soldier program, how to effectively torture an enemy combatant to get information without risking death or lethal shock. Clearly this was the practice taken too far._

 _If those statements hold true, then it may be possible that an ex-Soldier has gone insane and began hunting his own people as if it were wartime._

 _This, I suppose, is the only thing that would make me unearth a Shin-Ra registry to contact some loose acquaintances.  
_

 _May the Planet have mercy on us._

 _\- Reeve_

* * *

 _ **A Deeper Green, Sector Four**_

The inside of the bar was threadbare and sterile, lacking in any sort of personality that bars usually maintained as a matter of pride. The liquor racks behind the counter were woefully empty, only stocked with cheaper drinks and local brews from nearby cities. A dozen tables with mismatched chairs were scattered in the lower section of the establishment, candles and bare lightbulbs illuminating the surfaces. At the corner on a raised platform were the grooves and marks of where a piano used to be, where it was a mystery to all. Nails were naked on the walls, no longer holding pictures or memorabilia or shelves. A solitary clock above the door clicked to six in the evening, a mechanical chime alerting to the change in the hour. The door to the kitchen was missing, a bedsheet lazily nailed in the jamb acting as a barrier to whatever was in there. The smells coming from it weren't appealing, but none of the occupants were ordering food. Stale pretzels and peanuts sat in unused ashtrays, flimsy coasters supported worn glass mugs filled with beer, and shot glasses lined the bar proper with people scrying fortunes from their contents. No one was concerned with anything but getting away from reality as often as money allowed.

"Yo."

The barkeep, busy with something below, stood at the voice. He cocked an eye at the stark red hair of his customer. "What?"

"What's with this place? It looks like a mess."

The keep huffed, putting his hands on the counter. "Look, bud, this place's only been open for six days. Gimme a break."

"Well, that's what I mean! Why open if you aren't prepared?" The redhead motioned around himself. "The place works, yeah, but it has no style! No culture! It isn't even very _green_."

The keep leaned forward an inch, eyes dark, wrinkles and sun darkened skin making such a glance even more threatening. "I'm workin' on it. Keep runnin' your mouth off and you can find somewhere else to go."

"I'll just keep runnin' my tab, then. Another shot of whatever I had last."

"You got money?"

The redhead reached into his blue coat and pulled out a thick fold of gil, wiggling it at the owner. "Plenty."

The keep nodded and poured another three fingers of watery vodka, sliding it over to the customer. The redhead took the small glass and inspected it quietly, trying to see through the blur; he wondered if he could see the future on the other side. He tossed it back and stood the glass down next to his others, feeling the burn linger down his throat and to his belly. The future, he mused, wasn't worth investing in anymore. Ever since Midgar was ruined nothing seemed worth his time except to drink and enjoy what was left of his money. What could a professional murderer hope to accomplish without the legal authority behind his every move? What was life without friends or comrades?

Shin-Ra. He had tried to find out what happened to the giant corporation after Meteor disappeared from the sky, but it was no use. The evacuation orders cleared the building out, and for some reason, no one ever returned to the shattered remains of the tower. Power was out, even the emergency reserves, so it would be mad to hike up the fifty floors to reach the executive offices. He did it anyway. Nothing was functional, nothing was moving in the dead cubicles and hallways, only the howling wind accompanied his jaunt to the farthest stairwell that wasn't blocked by rubble. The stairwell to the fifty fourth floor was too choked with debris to clear, so he went back down the stairs and left for the sectors. Ever since then he had wandered from bar to bar, drinking his retirement away while looking warily at the forbidding tower. He sighed, suddenly tired. When the money ran out, if the company wasn't alive and needing him, or none of his comrades ever found him, then it might be a sign to move on.

A figure took the stool next to his, leaning on the counter with their elbows. The barkeep looked to the newcomer, and the figure simply tapped the coaster and said. "House tap."

Those two word sent a jolt down the redhead's spine, memories blown back to the surface. He looked at the person with hope pounding in his heart, defeatist logic souring his mind. Surely enough, a familiar face and blonde bobbed hair smiled back at him.

"Long time, Reno," she said, voice betraying her emotions.

"Elena!" He stood and wrapped his arms around her in an awkward embrace, her arms circling him in return. He patted her back and chuckled, sitting down. "Where the hell have you been? Wait, is-"

"I'm here," a third voice spoke up from behind him.

Reno looked back and saw an imposing figure standing behind him. Sunglasses hid the man's eyes, but a smirk on his face told all the redhead he needed to know. He grinned and stood once more, giving the taller man a brief clap on the back. "Rude! Good to see you, man!"

"We thought you might be taking in the new colors," Elena spoke, taking a sip of her beer. "Where have you been?"

Reno looked back to his colleague and couldn't help but smile at her. "Been dreaming about your pretty face, 'Lena."

She scowled, but broke into a fit of laughter a moment later. She seemed determined to be angry at him, but it wasn't working. "You bastard. We've been looking all over Midgar for you, and you've just been drinking! Why didn't you call us, or go to headquarters?"

He sat back down in his stool and shrugged. "I went back to the tower, but no one's been there."

Elena looked surprised. "You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"About the _new_ headquarters! Mayor Domino has been taking select people from Shin-Ra and giving them new jobs as city workers."

Reno was only a little surprised. He knew that Domino had been using his title of Mayor to bring control back to the city, but he didn't think that he would do it like this. Frankly, he figured Domino wouldn't even grant Shin-Ra employees a second chance, not after they screwed him out of his power for so many years. Now that he thought about it, what would Elena and Rude be doing with them at all? Elena wasn't in uniform, just street clothes, and Rude was always dressed in slacks and button down shirt. She looked at Reno from the corner of her eye, hands around the mug.

"Hasn't he called you?" Elena asked.

"Don't have my phone."

"What!? Why not?"

Reno shrugged. "Lost it. Besides, they don't work."

"PHS service was established in all sectors four days ago," Rude said, still standing alongside the two. "That is how Reeve contacted us."

"Reeve?"

Elena nodded. "He's been trying to get order in the streets. You've seen how things are, haven't you? It's almost like a war."

Reno rolled his eyes. "People will be people."

"Don't be an ass," she growled. "We've been helping to rebuild the city ever since day one, and you've just...wasted it like _this_! Don't you see that everything's changed? We can't just sit and wait for assignments, Reno. We...we can't live like we did back then. People need our help!"

"Don't get preachy with me," he snorted, avoiding her eyes.

The silence stretched uncomfortably, and Elena sighed in frustration. "Look, since you aren't aware, we have a job to do."

"A job to do? Says who?"

"Reeve. He want's-"

"He ain't our boss, 'Lena."

"So what if he isn't!" she snapped. "Why are you being like this? You can't hang out in bars forever. We aren't going to get a call to kill someone and wander into headquarters to collect a paycheck every two weeks for being intimidating. No one is going to hire you for a bodyguard. We need to get ourselves settled and start helping rebuild Midgar!"

"Don't lecture me, Elena. I don't have to do anything I don't want, an' that includes rebuilding this hole in the ground. Hell, we aren't even _employed_. If it's so bad out there, let 'em fend for themselves for once."

"But it's important!" she continued.

"So's a lotta other things."

Elena slumped in defeat. She looked at him with pleading eyes. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"Will you at least her me out?" She waited for him to speak, and took his silence to mean okay. "Well, Reeve said that there's a murderer somewhere in sector three who has been torturing people. He's been helping to bring the sector police back to strength to deal with the crime, but they aren't any use. He said that the person might be ex-Soldier with a _Fire_ materia in his possession. None of the officers have a lead, and few of them want to even get near the guy. Reeve asked us if we could lend a hand in the investigation and the arrest when it's made."

"And you agreed," Reno added.

"Yeah."

"You too, Rude?"

The man nodded.

"Reeve said that we would get paid," Elena went on. "He even found a place for us to stay at."

"Us?" Reno's lips curled to a racy grin. "You and Rude _together_ , us?"

"I-It's not like _that_!" she blurted, face blushed red. "Honestly, Reno..."

The redhead laughed at her flustered expression. For the moment, he forgot about how the world had changed and felt like it was just another night out after work, throwing back shots and playing cards and pool. Elena was snickering at her own reaction, and even Rude had cracked a grin over his stoic expression. After so many weeks of wandering the sectors, he finally found the future that eluded his grasp. Reno leaned over to the occupant to his right and gave him a not too gentle pat on the shoulder. "Yo buddy, move it. My friend needs a seat."

The man looked at Reno and sneered with false bravado. "Why should I?"

"'Cause I'm a goddamn _Turk_ , that's why!"

The man's eyes grew wide, ingrained fear of that name lurking to the conscious mind. He stood, finished his beer hastily, and clumsily wandered down several stools. Rude sat in his place and Reno ordered two stouts for themselves. Once the keep served them, Reno took up his mug and lifted it to eye level.

"A toast!" he said quickly. "To us, and everything else worthwhile in life."

"To us," Elena and Rude echoed.

They tapped their glasses against one another and drank them empty. The barkeep took the empty tankards and put them into the sink, then carefully leaned on his bar to place himself near the three.

"So you're...them?" The barkeep tried to keep up a front, but his voice quavered with fear. "The Turks?"

"We are! Well, we were," Reno replied cheerily. "Mister, what _is_ your name?"

"Milton Dredge," the man answered.

"Well, mister Dredge, you just earned yourself three regulars from now on."

The owner looked surprised, but narrowed his eyes regardless. "I thought you didn't like the place."

"Oh, it needs work, don't think that it doesn't! Only now it's proven to have good luck for me. You two like it?" He looked at Elena and Rude, and they both nodded their approval. Reno smiled with sincere pleasure, taking out his wad of gil and peeling away several bills. He slid them over to Dredge. "It's settled. A bottle of something stronger this time."

"Reno, we have-"

Reno raised his hand to halt her coming speech. "Elena, forget about the job. Right now, all I want to do is enjoy a drink with two people I've sorely missed."

Elena looked to spout several responses to his laid back attitude, but none of them made it to her lips. Dredge brought out three clean shotglasses and a bottle of Gongaga whiskey from beneath, setting them on the counter. Reno fidgeted with the bottle, failing to twist the cap off. He began to swear at it, prompting Rude to take it and do the job for him. Reno snatched it back and poured out the first round, three fingers each. The redhead didn't care that this would probably make him sick. This was tradition. For all the weeks he had wandered, sleeping in the streets and railcars and empty homes, he only wanted to find somewhere to be at peace. Now that his friends were here, putting away the crushing pain of their likely deaths, and they had somewhere for him to live, everything he felt was missing just fell into place. He honestly believed for a moment that he could step outside and the world would be back the way it was, that Meteor had never come.

"Reno?" Elena leaned close to him, interrupting his thoughts. "Are you crying?"

"Tears of joy, 'Lena," he wiped his cheek nonchalantly, "'cause I'm finally home."

* * *

 _ **E Street Apartments #114, Sector Four**_

"So this is your place?" Reno looked around, tried to form an opinion of the settings, and found himself lacking one. The front door led right into the living room with the kitchen separated by the line between thin carpet and cheap plastic tile. A hallway shot off to the left, probably to bedrooms and a bathroom, and a window was opposite him with maroon curtains drawn closed. Below the window was a couch that was older than he was if the sheer volume of tears and holes meant anything. A strip of halogen lights illuminated the room from one end and a lamp from the other. In the middle of it all was a sturdy looking table and worn chairs, the surface covered in coasters, a deck of cards with chips, and an ashtray. Together it appeared older than dirt, thick with use and memories.

"Yeah," Elena replied, sliding her jacket off and hanging it on a peg by the door.

"It's...nice."

She huffed at his comment. "You could at least lie better than that."

"Alright, so it's cheap looking and small. Happy?"

"Yes." She began walking to the kitchen. "Beer?"

"I take it all back," said Reno with a grin.

She opened the refrigerator and tossed a chilled bottle his way. Reno caught it with little problem, thankful it was a screw to open lager that would be cheap and potent. He cracked it open, took a hearty chug and sighed, satisfied. They had drank until last call, but Reno was insistent that they continue celebrating, not willing to give up the last vapors of his buzz. Rude, who had followed in silence, was untying his shoes by the door and unlacing his necktie when Elena offered him a drink. They congregated by the table and sat, the silence a force of it's own only broken by the hum of the fridge and the creak of floorboards from the next story up.

"So..." Elena spoke towards Reno. "What are you going to do?"

"About what?" the redhead asked.

"About the job."

The job. Reno was still a little uneasy about the concept that he would be taking orders from someone who didn't know a thing about the Turks. Reeve was just a suit for the president's bureaucracy, filed paperwork and did a little spying if need be. It was Tseng that pushed him to spy on Avalanche, confident that the man wouldn't do anything stupid and could be trusted to keep his role a secret. His honesty was what made him so easy to manipulate into doing it, even though he fled ship at the last second and abandoned his job. But the man was determined and had a backbone; even if he wasn't cut for this work, it wasn't as if there was a line of others more suited to it. Better a half-wit than a complete idiot.

But still, he was uncertain. What kind of job was this lining up to be? Kill a murderer for starters, but then what? What freedoms was he going to sacrifice this time around?

"Hell if I know," he replied absently.

"What else are you gonna do? Go back to drinking all day?"

"Who said anything about quitting that?"

The joke didn't ease her expression. "Be serious. Reeve needs us to help stop that killer. Every day we wait means someone else could die."

Reno sat in silence.

"It isn't something that can be reasonably ignored," Rude spoke up, having lit a cigarette; it seemed he still hadn't given up that indulgence. "These people are not criminals, just survivors of the Meteor. Letting this man kill as he pleases will only hinder Midgar's recuperation."

"I've already said that they oughta take care of themselves."

"But we need to help if we can!"

"For what?" Reno looked at Elena with a stern expression, willing to dig at the heart of the issue now that he felt sober enough. "Sure, we'd get paid to do it, but _why_ should we? _Why_ should I put my life on the line for them? If this guy is ex-Soldier, why not fight fire with fire?"

"The new chief of police has been arresting Soldiers for any crime he can place on them, hoping to contain them and keep the populace safe from the threat they pose." Rude shook his head a little. "Ironic, considering that they are so thinly spread about the city and without motivation. The sector police is not equipped to deal with a military trained, Mako injected killer."

"So we're their last hope? That's great."

"So why won't you help?" Elena demanded. "Rude and I are. If you did, then it would be like old times again."

Silence again.

Elena scowled, slapping her palm on the tabletop and leaning forward to the redhead. She looked genuinely upset. "Reno!"

He turned his head, not wanting to meet her eyes.

"Dammit, do I have to force you into this?" She lifted her right hand and ticked off her facts on her fingers. "Look, you need the money. You also need a place to stay unless you want to sleep in the streets. I know you miss how things were, and this would be just like it. You aren't a coward, and you aren't an idiot!" The palm slapped onto the table again. "What other excuse is there?!"

The silence stretched on longer than they thought seemed possible, the tension thick enough to choke on. Reno looked at Elena, meeting her blistering blue sight and trying to get her to back off from the issue. But every second they looked at one another, the more it seemed that she was serious about this. The intensity of her will was surprising. She was never this persistent about anything since he met her those months ago, fresh in uniform and jittery enough to pass out. Had she really changed so much since the incident, or had he never noticed this side of her before?

He broke the contest with a grunt, taking up his beer and chugging several gulps down. He wiped his lips and rested his arms on the tabletop. "Do you know why I drink, 'Lena?"

"Of course I do," she said.

"I mean the _real_ reason," he corrected.

"That one, too." She smirked in confidence when Reno looked at her with an eyebrow arched in amusement. "What, you think I haven't seen drunks before? You drink because you want to forget about the kind of life you lead. You want to suppress the emotions you feel towards it. I've been feeling guilt build up 'cause of what we do since day one, and it hasn't been any easier to forget." She sighed, seemingly deflated of her previous arrogance. "We've done atrocious things under Shinra's order. You've done more than I could imagine. No one can go through life with that kind of burden on their shoulders and expect to stay sane. Drinking to forget, even if it's only a while, helps keep the pain at bay. You forget the tragedy, the anger, the fear, that the next mission might be the last one...everything."

"Sounds like psychobabble to me," he scoffed, "right out of a book."

"Sector Seven."

Those words struck Reno like a physical blow, and his fingers tightened on the bottle in shock. The memories laced to those words came flooding back, numbers and screaming and statistics and plans and tears. Suddenly the cold sweat of sleepless nights and nightmares made his palms clammy, a chill running down his spine. Of all the things she could have said, that was the last he expected.

"That was low." The words came like a growl from clenched teeth.

"It got your attention," Elena snapped back. "Are you going to let this lunatic roam free? Give him a few months, he might come close to what you've done."

"Don't fucking compare me to that shit!" Reno snarled. "I did it because Tseng ordered me to! We all did shit because of orders!"

"Then why not do something _good_ for a change? Or do you want to be remembered as a Turk who killed a whole sector and never repented for it?"

Reno stood up and stormed over to the door, though listening to her dig up the past. If she was going to guilt him into hunting this killer, then it wouldn't be worth the effort. Elena stood as well as Rude, but she was first to pursue him and throw her hand on the door to keep him from leaving. She slithered herself in front of it, trapping Reno where he stood. Her expression looked mixed between outrage and panic.

"We're going to help. Are you going to let us do this alone? Do you want to be remembered as a heartless killer who didn't even care about his own friends?"

"Let me go, Elena."

"Not until you answer me!"

Reno slammed his palm onto the door by her head, pinning a stray lock of hair beneath his thumb. Her image faltered and revealed the fear in her eyes, but she struggled to hide that weakness. Nothing she would do would change his mind, but her resolve was still unbroken. He questioned where all this courage came from. Maybe the incident had changed her to lead instead of follow. Maybe that was why he was upset at her, that his memories of her didn't match the woman who stood before him now. "Move it."

"I won't."

"Let him go, Elena," Rude spoke up suddenly from beside them.

The two looked at their quiet friend, his expression masked by his sunglasses. The cigarette was forgotten between thumb and finger, ash building on the tip. It was clear that he was troubled over their argument, which was rare. He always preferred the role of the silent arbiter when it came to their shouting matches, offering facts and logic when asked. Reno wondered whose side he took in all this. Elena spared a glance at him, looking betrayed.

"But Rude...!"

"It's his choice to make. We don't have time to spare for this." The man looked at Reno, eyes peering like daggers from above his shades. "If he wants to waste his life sulking, let him."

The blonde was conflicted between his logic and her own feelings, but the seconds proved that it was useless to argue like this. She slowly stepped away from the door, and Reno lowered his hand to take the knob and twist it open. He stepped into the hallway, but a hand grabbed at his own and held him still a moment. He looked back and saw Elena again, but this time her expression was genuinely hurt. Her eyes looked close to tears, and again he couldn't place a time when he saw her like this. The past several hours had shown him many sides of her that he never recognized before. It almost made him feel guilty.

"You have a home here...so don't run away again," she begged. "Please."

He snatched his hand away from her and walked away. Walked away to the door outside. Pushing it open let in the sounds and feelings of the world, and the heavy thoughts from within were cut away when the door closed behind him.

* * *

 _ **Somewhere in Sector Three**_

The sounds were everywhere, but at least they were quieter in the deeper parts of the abandoned neighborhoods. All this construction and renewal made it tough to find a place to relax in, a place to keep to one's self. But, eventually, it would all be taken and reborn. The old would be burned and purged from this world and covered by a shiny new facade to ease the people's worries. People would come and go, and the visible scars would heal. There were already flowers in the cracked patches of earth, soil buried beneath concrete and stone for so many years and only now exposed to the sky. A person could look straight up and see the blue sky instead of the brownish haze from the industries and the reactors and the plates. A person could breathe deep and not choke from the smog. A person could walk down a darklit street and not be afraid of faceless goons or assassins out for his life because he stood against the majority. You'd never realize just what this land and the people endured by looks alone.

But the mental scars would still be there.

 _He_ would still be there. No one would ever deny him his existence, not anymore.

Those others who tried to place themselves as his betters were shown otherwise. Even now he expected the footsteps of sector police to come, for someone else to push their laws on him and their authority. He expected the future to try and erase him, a memory of the past, like they did to so many others; but he would not allow himself to be pushed aside and buried. Not like all the other weaklings he once worked with.

No one had authority over him. No one. Try and keep him from what he wanted, and he would fight you to the death for it; the laws of nature were the only ones he paid respect towards. Survival of the fittest ruled in the sectors, and he was fit for gods.

"I won't bow to anyone," he murmured to the shadows.

A cat hopped onto the window frame and into the empty room, silent and graceful. It was a lean and ruffled tomcat, colored like the clouds and striped with silver lining. It strode over to the person and nosed around the small things sitting by his waist. The person waved an arm at the feline, warding it off.

"Nothin' there, furball," the man muttered in a throaty voice.

The cat paused and sat on its haunches, waited a second, yawned, then began grooming itself vigorously. The man sighed, leaning farther against the wall and the crook of his arms behind his head. The cat had been there ever since he showed up, always looking for something to eat. It caught rats, though, and seemed fit enough on that diet. Better it ate them instead of them nibbling at his things. That was probably the only reason he let the thing hang around his hole. He felt more familiar with animals and simple survival than people and their complexities. That cat was a good animal, capable of surviving anywhere, independent and proud. A lot like himself.

The man took a deep breath, held it in a moment, and exhaled it slowly to relax his muscles. That last one had been too weak and croaked nearly as soon as he caught him.

"Younger, maybe," he muttered, closing his eyes to rest the day away.


	2. Chapter Two

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

 **: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _What can a guy do? You put your soul into the business and it goes bottom up before you can get out with all your money! Must be bad karma._

 _But at least I've got my comrades again. The world seems like it could be better with them around. It might not be pressuring the local powers and getting paid rich for it, or even killing for a paycheck, but it's more than I had when it was over. Except now she's saying we have work to do with some ex Shin-Ra suit and Rude is going along with her for god knows what reason. I swear that girl can't function unless she has someone barking orders at her. When is she gonna learn to relax and let whatever happens happen?_

 _Fuck, why am I worrying about it? Life's done me worse and left me lower._

 _Friends and beer and a haunt and a pad. If I can find some easy work and get paid for it, then life is good._

 _-Reno_

* * *

 _ **Temporary City Government Office, Sector Two**_

Mayor Domino's frown deepened before he spoke. "Reeve, this wasn't my idea."

"I know, Mayor, but they _are_ good at what they do," the architect pleaded.

"Can't you handle it some other way?"

"I would if I could."

"What about those people," he waved a hand around, "you know, the ones you spied on?"

"I don't want to involve them."

"But this is a serial murderer, Reeve! It involves anyone who this madman might target next."

"They have dealt with enough as it stands, Mister Domino." Reeve placed his hand on his forehead, trying to concentrate on keeping awake. The past twenty four hours had seen a complete overhaul of the police directives, new laws enacted and to be enforced, and numberless debates with citizens seeking to add their two cents. Sleepless nights had become commonplace for him, trying to put all his effort into restoring order to the ravaged metropolis. He was nearly at wits end after this all-nighter, and now the mayor had to bring up this. It was too early in the morning to dig up those memories. "Look, the members of Avalanche are dealing with their own problems. Captain Highwind took most of them back to the Corel Continent and to their homes. Only Barret and Tifa are still here, helping to build homes in sector five."

"What of that ex-Soldier person?"

This was the most troubling of all personal matters he felt in regards to the separation of Avalanche after Meteor had been stopped. Cloud, their leader, just disappeared two weeks after the incident. There was no note, no indication that he would ever return from wherever he went. Reeve felt so troubled that he personally visited Tifa to console her when the waiting became too much. Despite being a member by proxy, he felt the dynamics of their relationship as strongly as if he were there in the flesh. In part, his antics playing matchmaker at times through Cait Sith made him feel partly responsible for this tragedy.

"He's missing," Reeve finally responded.

Domino frowned and leaned back in his executive chair. "Then that's it, is it? They're the best you can give me."

"Yes."

"I never trusted those Turks. They waited on Shinra beck and call, killed anyone he didn't like. They _murdered_ people for only speaking the truth."

"They only did as they were ordered."

"But they still did the deed!" Domino twisted his face in a snarl. "Don't try and excuse them from their sins, mister Tuesti! Those people are monsters, savages with no respect for the basic laws of humanity! I don't hold them any higher than I do this lunatic in my city! I want you to exhaust every option to find the right people for this job."

"Yes, sir."

Domino reached out to a slip of paper on his desk and held it out to Reeve. Reeve accepted it and saw it was three series of numbers, one obviously for a PHS number, another a street address, and the other broken by hyphens. It took a moment, but he recognized it to be a specific location in Midgar according to the master blueprints of the city. If he recalled properly, then this would be several blocks to the north of them at the border of sectors two and one on the plates. He wondered about that, then figured it was merely for referencing the area.

"This is?" Reeve asked.

"You can see what it is," Domino snapped. "I wasn't expecting much from you, Reeve, so I made contacts of my own. This is where a former member of the Soldier program is living. That is her PHS number. Get in contact with her and bring her to meet with the Sector police so she can help stop this! If she can contact other Soldiers she considers trustworthy, so much the better."

"What about-"

"If it's those Turks you're worried about, forget it! I won't give them another place in this city just because of who they once worked for. Let them find real jobs if they remember how."

"So you'll allow a member of Soldier to help, but not a Turk?"

The mayor frowned at Reeve's attempt at logic. "A Soldier isn't a mindless killer, they have restraint and training. Those Turks were Shinra's personal assassins! You would place them in the same realm as a professional soldier?"

"But they have the skills we need to-"

"I said _no!_ " Domino screamed, standing in a huff. His face was taught and red with anger clear in his eyes. "That is _all_ , Reeve. Don't think that you'll keep working for me if you defy my ruling. You're just as guilty as they are for what happened to this city!"

Reeve stood slowly, restraining himself from snapping back at the mayor. He worked for the President, yes, but that didn't make him as evil. He shared the blame for their rise to power and the social divide between upper and lower class citizens, but it was minute compared to the others. It had already been three months and Domino was still raging against the shattered corporation. Worst yet was his own intoxication with the thought that Midgar might again flourish under his leadership. Revenge against president Shinra made him bitter and tough, not the sort of image a leader needed in these times. He slipped the paper into his shirt pocket and picked up his jacket. "Very well, I'll get to it."

"Good." Domino sat again, looking strained and depleted. "Good."

Reeve wondered how long it would be until the man admitted he was too old to keep working at this pace. It was taking a toll on his already poor health, and it would only get tougher as the months wore on. He hoped that the man would be able to adapt his vengeful energies to the strain of leadership once more.

"Good afternoon, Mayor," Reeve said while parting the office.

Outside the room, Reeve let his shoulders sag and felt the strain of the meeting further add to his headache. If there was only some way to get around Domino's authority to get necessary work done! The elderly man was insistent that he be involved in every little project that sprung up in the reviving sectors, doing his utmost to set schedules and demand outrageous feats of workmanship to people barely competent to use a hammer. He wanted statues, parks, wide and open public auditoriums for displaying art and history. Worst yet was his plans for a new city hall that would take even a company of veteran constructors years to complete. He held onto his power so tightly that simple things took much longer than needed, always inspected by his critical eye.

He took a deep breath and sighed, knowing that Domino would have to be tolerated for the meanwhile. He was stubborn and foolish, but no one else had the experience nor willingness to step up and take his place.

Reeve began walking to the stairs leading to the streets, slipping into his jacket and taking up his phone. He pressed in the numbers for the woman he was to enlist for the job, hoping the call would go through. He paused just by the door, wanting to keep the background noise of the city out of the conversation. He connected the call and waited as the other line began to ring. It quickly dawned on him that he didn't know the name of the person he just called. He was about to cut it when the other end picked up, a sigh proceeding any words.

"Atma," she said as an introduction.

Reeve thanked his lucky stars for that. "Miss Atma?"

Another sigh told of annoyance. "Yes."

"My name is Reeve Tuesti, and-"

"You're the guy I'm expecting about the job?"

"Did mayor-"

"Yes, he said that you'd be calling. He said you were going to fill me in about the killer in sector three."

"Yes," he said, adding nothing else thinking she would just cut him off again.

"What's the mission? Is it just a kill, or does he need to be alive for trial?"

"I thought we might talk about this in person, Miss Atma."

"Just call me Atma, Reeve. I'm not what people would call a miss."

"Right. Atma. The mayor gave me an address, so can I meet you there?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll be there in...twenty minutes?"

"Sure."

"Then I'll-" Reeve stopped, hearing the line cut when she hung up. He stood there a moment, flustered that she cut him off every time he tried to speak. Was she that dominant a personality, or was it just being rude? He closed his phone and put it back into his jacket, then stepped outside and into the morning sunlight. He shielded his eyes as he scanned the horizon, always humbled that the sun once again shone on this tortured soil. Three months and you could tell that the sky was blue, that clouds could be a color aside from brown and black, that life on the ground was worth living. Even if Midgar was abandoned tomorrow, the work they accomplished was more than he could hope for.

* * *

The walk to meet with Atma was eventful. People were working in droves to repair the damage done to their homes, and new ones were springing up like wildflowers. Dirt roads were being paved and lined for construction and personal vehicle traffic, and existing roads were being patched into shape for continued operation. With plentiful raw material from the plates, older housing was being cut down and newer, modern homes were built in their place. Pipes were being lain everywhere to carry drinking water, sewage, electrical wiring from the last functional reactor, and drains for the eventual rain. An entire infrastructure was going up before his eyes, a system he took for granted on the plates and their prefabricated neighborhoods. Neighborhoods of his design, and evident in spirit in what was being done here. He stopped at some apartments and took lists of needs from the managing engineers, taking the time to listen to their stories. Things were moving slow, but getting better, and the future looked brighter than the sun.

By the time Reeve came to the street where Atma was, it had been thirty minutes since the phone call. After asking around, he found her address and saw that it was one of the new apartment buildings that were sprouting up to meet the shelter demands. They were small, often one room homes with shared toilets that were only built well enough to weather a few years occupation. Better homes would be made in time, but this was still a godsend to those who lost everything to the Meteor. He stepped into the building and went up a flight of stairs, smelling freshly cut wood and the scent of plastic and paint. The hallway was plain and without decor, doors lined in neat rows with numbers block painted above the jamb. He went to the appropriate door and knocked three times.

"Enter," her voice demanded, loud despite the barrier.

He took the knob, opened the door, and was surprised by Atma once again. Directly across was an open window, and only a single light bulb was lit in the middle of the ceiling. A futon was beneath the window, sheets and pillows and clothes piled onto it. There were several shelving units with specific holes in the frame along the walls, each supporting a standard Shin-Ra semi-automatic rifle. Pistols were hanging by pegs in the ends of the shelves, and boxes were squeezed in the spaces between, each marked with specific calibers of ammunition.

In the middle of this was Atma herself, legs spread to shoulder width and arms lifting bulky iron weights. She looked at him and he felt an instinctive fear rattle him when meeting those luminous purple eyes. Reeve took her in as a whole, seeing toned limbs and a tanned body dressed in track shorts, sports bra, and sleeveless tee. Her short platinum-blonde hair was tied back, but a single lock stood purposefully across her forehead. She didn't even break stride in her exercise when Reeve entered.

"You're late," she commented, eyes staring right at his own.

"I'm sorry."

"Close the door."

Reeve did as she said, feeling nervous about the weaponry around him. He glanced around and saw that these gun shelves were packed tightly together, probably home to nearly fifty rifles and as many pistols. Atma didn't stop lifting her weights while he stared at the armaments. Together it would be enough to rival the sector police's own armory!

"Where did you get these?" he asked in awe.

"I took them from the tower. After Meteor fell the door to the security armory was wide open; had to make sure no one got a hold of them and cause trouble." She gently set the weights on the floor, then took a rag from her pocket and wiped her face down. "They're locked."

"Huh?"

"Trigger locks, so you can't fire them."

"Right, that's...very good of you."

"So what can't we discuss over the phone?" she asked, standing at ease.

Reeve was a little frayed at her to the point attitude, plus his own sluggish thoughts from so little sleep. He took a quick breather and tried to compose himself. To start, he stepped forward and offered his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Reeve Tuesti, but you can just call me Reeve."

She accepted the gesture and shook his hand with a tight grip. "Delita Atma, Soldier second class, one hundred and tenth division. Atma will do."

"Alright, Atma. I was told to bring you over to the sector police headquarters so we can bring you up to date on the serial killer. We'll also meet with the others-" he stopped and yawned suddenly. "Alright, I hate to sound upfront, but do you want to get some coffee? I'm nearly asleep on my feet."

The humor clearly went over Atma's attention, but she nodded. "Okay. Turn around."

"Huh?"

"We may be working together, but that doesn't include a peep show."

"R-Right!" Reeve blushed lightly, but turned so she didn't see his reaction. He stood casually, but his ears burned with the sound of cloth shifting on cloth and on skin. His mind made up for a lack of visuals with lewd ideas, and he strained to get his head out of the gutter. He looked directly ahead at the door to the hall; it, too, was also used for weapon storage, this time wood dowels holding knives and several varieties of short swords. He didn't know if this was typical of someone from Soldier, but even for a person adapted to war this seemed a bit much. Was she a collector, or were they all for active use? What kind of a person was she?

"I'm decent," Atma said.

He turned and saw her pulling on a black leather coat over tee shirt and tattered denim pants, the butt of a pistol sitting in a shoulder holster. She walked to a nearby shelf and took out another pistol, unlocked it with a key, then slid it into a holster clipped to a belt. She tied the belt around her waist, then walked toward Reeve. Her shoulder brushed his as she stood by the door and selected a bowie knife from the rack. She secured it to leather circlets on her belt so that it was snug to her waist. A narrow dagger she strapped to her ankle, poking from her pant leg for easy access.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Yes," Reeve answered, tempted to ask why she was arming herself so heavily; he managed to resist without too much trouble.

Atma opened the door and motioned for him to step into the hall. Once they were in the hall, she locked the door with a simple key. She then took it and hung it around her neck by the small chain. Another small chain went under her shirt, so Reeve couldn't tell what it was for.

"Do you know a place that has coffee?" Reeve asked her.

"One block down. Don't know if it's good, I hate the stuff."

"Is there something else you'd like? Tea, or something?"

"Water will be fine." She looked at him with those eyes, and Reeve finally noted that she was nearly as tall as he. For a woman this was uncommon, but somehow it fit her perfectly. She frowned suddenly, crossing her arms. "Let's get this out of the way, Reeve. I've been a fighter all my life and plan on staying that way. I'm no prize, and I'm not going to act like your friend. I don't like being treated special because of my talents as a Soldier, or because I worked for Shin-Ra. Give me food, drink, respect that I will share mutually when earned, and payment for my work. No more, no less. Anything else would only be a burden to me. You understand?"

He nodded once. "Yes."

Atma suddenly placed a hand on his arm and looked him dead in the eyes. They seemed to glow brighter than before. "Are you certain?"

Reeve was a little curious about her insistence on these needs, on being treated like so. Few people were so spartan in these days that being confronted with it was more than unusual. Was it just a result of being in the Soldier program, or was it something more? The questions about this woman numbered higher than those he had about the serial killer. "I promise to remember, Atma."

At this she seemed a little relaxed, smiling lightly. "Thank you."

* * *

 _ **Sector Police Headquarters, Sector Three**_

Within the network of desks and cabinets that made up the main floor of the department headquarters, a special area was visible to the naked eye as being different from the others. It was large, had boundaries that could be defined by paths and the arrangements of tables. This area had a large glass writing board at one end, a table in the middle, and chairs scattered along the edges with a coffeemaker taking center stage. The writing board was covered in scribbles, the table buried in papers. Clearly seen were the faces of eleven people, all of them from postmortem inspection. Words and arrows were drawn around these faces like an intricate sigil, one that only a select few could decipher.

When the newly appointed chief of police walked into this place with Reeve and Atma, the office grew a little quieter. The chatter and voices came to an eerie standstill when the man took a single white paper in his hand and taped it to the writing board. A face looked back at them all, eyes closed and face stiff in uneasy peace. It was evident to them all that the murderer had struck again, a twelfth soul stolen from their hands. It took nearly a minute for the din of voices to regain their previous strength, so shaken by this force that haunted their turf. The officer stared back at the victim, arms tense at his sides. Reeve, with Atma behind him, waited.

"No more," the officer swore under his breath. "Not ever again."

"When was he found?"

The officer looked back to Reeve, frowning in anger. "This morning, four hours ago."

"God," he shook his head.

"God doesn't have anything to do with it, mister Tuesti, it's Shin-Ra and those damn freaks they made! I've already had to deal with too many of them as is. They're a plague that'll kill this city if we let them! Who knows how many of them are still hiding out there."

Reeve looked at Atma as the chief went on a tirade, and he was surprised to see that she was calm. He expected her to at least be offended by being lumped in with monsters, or even to defend their actions. Instead she stood silently with her hands tucked behind her in military ease, expression showing nothing of her emotions. Her eyes, however, followed his every movement.

"Worst yet is that madman Domino telling me to work with one of them!" the chief spat the words out like a poison, eyeing the woman he targeted.

"That's enough, Varik, she-"

Varik stepped forward and placed himself directly in front of Atma, using his height as best he could to intimidate her. "How many people have you killed, girl?"

Atma returned his gesture with her acute glare. "Thirty two in an official capacity, six unofficially."

"Is that admitting to murder?"

"It's admitting to defending myself against those who thought I would be easy prey."

Reeve stepped in and took Varik's shoulder, trying to get the chief to step back from the argument. He quickly found his own arm caught in Atma's tight grip, his nerves wincing and his fingers uncurling from the chief's shoulder. The Soldier focused her eyes on him again, her expression the same when she made her demands at the apartment.

"Don't," she spoke calmly. "I regret nothing I've done."

"I should throw your ass in a cell," Varik threatened. "Just because Domino said you'd help me doesn't mean I can't arrest you."

She released Reeve's hand and resumed looking at the chief. "Show me proof of my crimes."

"You just admitted to them!"

"Admission isn't compensation for a lack of motive, victim, or a weapon."

"Enough!" Reeve barked, stepping between them to cut this short. "Atma, you can't argue emotions with logic. Varik, she's going to help bring this man in regardless of what you say, so tough it out. Are you really going to argue this when the killer just struck again?"

Varik looked ready to burst, face a shade of tomato red. Reeve knew that he was short tempered and fiercely against Shin-Ra's influence in the force; the sector police was so oppressed by Shin-Ra that it was a miracle that it survived to the modern day. Even with the corporation finished, the stigma was as strong as ever. It would be many years, or even a full generation, until that word no longer made people angry by pavlovian response. The police chief looked upset enough to carry that grudge to his grave.

"Get her out of my sight," he growled.

"She needs-" Reeve hesitated when he saw her move in the corner of his eye. She was already walking back towards the lobby of the building. "Atma, hold on!"

She lifted up her hand without faltering in her step, cutting his words off. Reeve watched her until she passed through a set of doors to the streets, and then he turned back to the taciturn officer. "You shouldn't treat people that way, Varik."

"Then I've done nothing wrong."

"Quit insulting her! She hasn't done anything worse than you have."

"Don't compare that bitch to me! I'm nothing like her!"

"She killed people under orders and when she had no choice, only because she was a Soldier and had that right. If you call her a murderer, then you'd be exactly the same."

"So you're gonna defend one of Shin-Ra's little pet monsters? Have you forgot what they've done to us?"

"I am!" Reeve admitted sharply. "Shin-Ra is dead, Varik. The Soldier program went with it, so she isn't one of them any longer. We can't afford to let the past blind us to potential allies. I used to work directly under President Shinra, and I've already moved on so I can help rebuild this city. She's doing the same. Are you going to stand there and keep believing that everyone affiliated with Shin-Ra is still out to control the world?"

"I don't need to be lectured to, Reeve. I'm not going to forget all that Shin-Ra did to us at the drop of a hat. That place bred wicked men and they won't give up just because they lost their power. Give them an inch and we'll be begging for their scraps just like before!"

"That's what I mean! Have you looked outside, man? What is there left for someone to manipulate!? There isn't anything left for them to steal, and there won't be for years! Midgar has to pick itself up before someone can shove it down."

"So you say," Varik sneered.

Reeve sighed, frustrated beyond his limit. Bigots like Varik were what he feared in this delicate time, people who would cling so hard to old prejudices that it dragged anyone near them down. Everyone needed to cooperate to make this city livable once more, and those people hurt the process more than they thought. Disasters could change anyone for the better, and this was the worst in recorded history. A world without Shin-Ra was a daunting prospect on it's own, but this was in a league appropriate for old religious texts. Wiped clean, would the people choose to better themselves or stagnate back to the same evils and problems they faced before? Varik and his ilk would surely be a challenge to overcome when it came to the point.

"You gonna keep bitching at me?" Varik asked.

Reeve looked around, noting the silence in the precinct. Eyes stared at him, expressions showed disdain for his ideas, and he suddenly felt very vulnerable. It dawned on him that this was the worst forum to blurt his ideals of peace and unity.

"No." Reeve grabbed a chair and sat. "Let's get this started."

"Didn't Domino assign you any other people?"

"Not yet."

Varik slapped a palm onto the table. "Then what good is this meeting?"

"Just give me the details. I can tell her the rest."

Varik gave Reeve a disapproving look, but relented in his venting and started gathering papers from the table. After shuffling them around, he moved over to the writing board and pinned a finger at a person near the top. "This is the first victim, only known as Harken to locals. He was living in an abandoned building by himself, probably a drifter. There were very few personal effects with him, so we assume he just moved from another spot. Investigators know that our killer entered the building from the only door that was across from the victim's bed. We've been putting our effort into finding out exactly what he did to Harken to try and find his pattern. You already know the usual: broken bones and burns on their bodies. What the media doesn't know is what we find on each of their right hands." Varik pointed to a smaller picture below the shot of the man's face, a definite mark on his palm. "The number ninety-nine, written in blood. Presumably theirs."

"Ninety-nine?"

"Yeah. We have no idea what it's supposed to mean, but cataloged it anyway. Every victim has it on their right hand, never anywhere else."

Reeve felt his pulse jump when a sudden connection ignited in his memory. "It's Jenova..."

"What?"

"The Jenova Project! Every Soldier that was used in that program had a number tattooed on their right hand. It might mean that this ex-Soldier is connected to it!"

That finally made Varik's face grow pale and slack. "But I thought that all those guys went nuts after General Sephiroth returned and killed the President?"

"No, there were exceptions." This was serious. He knew that people who underwent this test were driven mad or worse. During his time with Avalanche he saw Cloud's entire breakdown after he was thrown into the lifestream; he saw Jenova force him to do things against his will, even cause him physical pain. Red XIII was also part of their test, but he didn't seem affected at all aside from his hatred of all things related to Shin-Ra. The others were driven insane to join the Reunion with their 'mother' at the Northern Crater, or became so unstable that they just babbled in madness. If one of them was still alive and still had enough of his sanity left, he would be very dangerous.

"So you think he's one of them?" Varik asked.

"It's possible. I don't know the details about the project, but I could find out. If I could use the master rolodex program in the Shin-Ra computers, I can look that number up and see who it is."

"Would you need to go to the tower?"

Reeve nodded. "I would, and I'd need a generator to power a terminal."

"How soon?"

Reeve looked at the chief with a surprised face. "Now! As soon as you can. This could be more dangerous that we think."

"How dangerous, Reeve? I know Soldiers mean trouble, but what are we looking at?"

"You have to be strong to get into Soldier. To survive being injected means you have to be _very_ strong. Sephiroth was part of it. It's like the elite of the elite in Shin-Ra's forces."

Varik frowned deeply. "That's just fucking great. Is there anything else I should know about them?"

"I couldn't say if there was."

"Couldn't or won't?" the chief shot back.

"Don't start that again, Varik."

"You worked for the bastards willingly, Reeve, so forgive me if I don't treat you like a saint."

"Just get a generator ready. You can hate me all you want after we stop this killer."

"Oh, I'll make certain you get what you've earned." Varik took a clipped number of papers and folder and offered them to him. "This is a brief copy of our investigations into each murder. I hope you and that bitch can find something in there we can use."

Reeve snatched the papers with a scowl, feeling sincerely angry at the chief of police for his blatant insults. "Thank you."

"I'll make arrangements for that generator as soon as I can. How much power does this terminal need?"

"I don't know. Enough for a personal computer? Maybe more."

"Forget it, I'll just bring the biggest one we can find." Varik shook his head sadly. "If we could just use reactor three to get power over there..."

"We can't. It would take weeks to lay a power line to the tower, weeks we don't have."

"Don't patronize me! It's gonna be hell to find a generator that isn't being used for something else. That's the only thing that Shin-Ra ever did right, giving us all easy power."

"We'll just have to make due."

"The same as usual, mister Tuesti. I'll call when we have it."

"Thank you, Varik." Reeve stood and tucked the papers into the folder, then offered his hand to the acting chief of police. Varik glanced at the hand and then at Reeve, then clasped it tightly and briefly.

"Good luck," he murmured with a grim expression.

"Good luck," Reeve replied.

The architect turned away and headed for the entrance of the precinct.

* * *

He wanted to apologize to Atma about how Varik dismissed her as a criminal and insulted her repeatedly, but her expression and stern reminders about their work relationship halted those words before they came near his throat. They sat at a local sandwich shop popular with officers and silently read the reports given to them. True to her word, she only ordered a sparse meal that was dwarfed by Reeve's six inch pastrami on rye. She ate quickly and ordered nothing else, containing herself to scanning the papers and adding notes on the side with a borrowed pen. She was diligent about her work, and entirely focused on it; his small talk didn't amount to anything other than a glance from the papers. However, Reeve could tell she wasn't at all ignoring those around her. Every sudden movement in the cafe attracted her eyes for a moment, clearly deciding if they were a potential threat or not. The waitress serving the floor was distressed by Atma's discerning stare at first meeting, and was wary each time she stopped to check in on the two. This sort of hyper-attention to her surroundings was making Reeve nervous, too, but he tried to ignore it.

After nearly an hour he was nearing the end of his ability to find information in the report. He wasn't at all used to investigating a killer, or trying to think of a pattern that one followed. Sure, he plied through paperwork enough during his time with Shin-Ra, and he was definitely in the company of murderers with and without legal authority at their disposal. He had followed a madman across the continents with Cloud and the others, but he was just added strength and never led. He could tell a few things about the case. It was obvious that the killer sought anyone within Sector Three's deeply affected blocks, probably for the lack of witnesses. But, he asked himself over and over, what was the reason for it all? Why did he choose the people he did, and what did they have in common, if anything at all?

"I think there's a pattern."

Reeve looked up at Atma with a start. "What is it?!"

"Looks like he's taking people from certain places in sector three," she continued. "Of his twelve victims, nine of them were seen frequently at two street intersections. Three of them lived in the same neighborhood that is near the median between the intersections." She looked at him from the report. "You have a map?"

"Umm...not on me."

"Know where there is one?"

"There's a detailed one at my office, but it's all the way in sector two. I could go back to the sector police for one. Why?"

"So we can set up a search grid starting from that block."

"But what are we looking for?"

"The killer, or his prey. If we can monitor his territory, then we can catch him in the act."

"But we need to stop him _before_ he kills again, not after!"

"That's impossible." She rapped the papers on the tabletop. "This doesn't have enough info to do that. If I had more I could do better."

"Varik said those were brief..."

"Then we need to go back."

"But-"

"Varik will just have to deal with me if he wants the killer stopped." She shuffled the papers into a neat pile and handed them to Reeve. "The evil you know over the evil you don't."

He received them and placed them into the report folder, then took out his wallet and counted fare for the meal and tip. Leaving the money on the table edge, he stood and left the eatery with Atma at his side. It was a short two blocks to the station, the streets busy with foot traffic and the rare vehicle retrofitted to run without mako. The homes and businesses here were noticeably better off than those in other sectors, clearly due to the presence of the police and the funds dedicated to it's maintenance. The people, too, seemed in better spirits and health. Construction was still the common theme throughout the neighborhood, but this one wasn't nearly as needing of repairs. Reeve recalled that this sector made it out the best of the eight, which was fortunate as it was being occupied by the homeless until new ones were built in time. The sector police headquarters was also spared much damage from the incident, retaining a solid and strong front to remind everyone that there was still law and order in this city. That Meteor hadn't meant the end of civilization.

They stepped inside and proceeded to the center of the floor where Varik would be working, plying clues and notes for some secret to be used against the killer. Reeve waited a few steps away until the chief acknowledged their presence, but Atma had no such desire and instead went right to the table and rapped her knuckles on it to get his attention. The chief looked up and his scowl deepened when he recognized her.

"Why the-"

"Where are the full reports on the murders?" she asked.

His brows furrowed at the quick question. "The...I gave you the reports!"

"Which Reeve admitted to being brief copies. I need the full reports, all the details and notes from the investigation."

"Those are classified for officers only, girl."

"I need them to-"

"I said they're _classified_. Are you stupid, too?"

Atma hesitated a moment before speaking. "To find this killer, I need those reports."

"And what, leave the entire search up to you" he snorted out a laugh, deliberately ignoring her. "Not gonna happen."

Reeve stepped forward finally. "Varik, what if-"

"You aren't getting them either, Reeve. Don't think I'm stupid. The mayor placed you into this investigation because of your connections, not because I wanted you here. You'll take what you get and do what I say. Got it?"

He stumbled over words, trying to keep from letting his anger get the best of him. "You're jeopardizing the people of Midgar for policy!"

"It's my job to follow policy! I can't let two civilians do all our work for us!" Varik stood in a huff, pointing towards the door. "Unless you got something for me you can waltz on outta here."

"There's a pattern to the killer's methods," Atma provided.

Varik looked at the ex-Soldier with a sneer. "Is there?"

"Give me a map."

The police chief motioned to a map posted on the glass board with the killer's victims, and she stood in front of it. She took a moment to orient herself, then put a finger onto a spot. "Here." Her finger slid to another point. "Here. These two intersections. Nine of the twelve victims were seen frequently at those places. Three lived between them."

Varik studied the map, his frown getting deeper as the seconds wore on.

"So?" Reeve pried.

"It's something, okay? If that's true, we can focus our search in the immediate blocks around the area. We'll post units there and start looking."

"What should we do?"

"You two can just sit back while we work. Don't bother to stop by again, Reeve, I'll send that generator to the mayor." He drifted back to the main table and delved into the reports once more. "That'll be all."

"Varik-"

"That's _all_ , Reeve."

Reeve sighed in frustration, turning to leave. He took a few steps before noticing that Atma was still standing where she had been. Her stance looked the same as it ever was, but something in her eyes hinted at her emotions. It seemed like she was struggling to maintain her calm outward appearance. He wondered what furies were at work beneath her mask of indifference.

"You won't give me the full reports?" she asked the chief of police.

He didn't even glance her way when he shook his head. "No."

"Not under any circumstances?"

"Only if you and your kind did us a favor and dropped dead." He looked up at her with a malicious smirk. "Except we wouldn't have to worry about this psycho, then, would we?"

The ex-Soldier didn't flinch at the insult. She turned and walked away from him without a word. Reeve followed her as she left the precinct, wondering just what they were going to do since Varik cut them out of the loop. Without any additional notes on the murders, they couldn't make any more progress on the killer and his pattern of work. From what he could tell, Varik was more than willing to completely keep them out of the investigation so long as Atma was a part of it. Even after providing him a clue in the same afternoon didn't seem like it was make him any more personable. Reeve wondered if he ought to involve Domino and make the chief turn over the full details, injured pride put aside. He looked at Atma briefly when she stopped on the sidewalk, waiting for him. She didn't look at all upset.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm very angry," she replied without the venom of the emotion.

That was a surprising admission. "You are?"

"I don't let it affect my performance. Wouldn't do any good on the battlefield. But," she clenched her hands tightly. "there are times I wish I could let it all out rather than keep it bottled up."

"Why don't you?"

She glanced his way, and Reeve thought that the expression on her face might be...curious?

"No one said you have to stay calm all the time," he explained.

"My teachers did, as did my instructors and my officers. Being a Soldier means you don't let petty anger control your actions."

"Except you aren't in Soldier anymore."

She shook her head. "I am a member of Soldier. What was done to me cannot be changed, nor can who I am."

Reeve expected that much from her. Even though he knew her for only a few sleep deprived hours, she was predictable in her professional attitude. Apparently being a Soldier stripped away more than fear from your mind. He could only nod at her assertion.

"We should go," she said.

"Go where?"

"Where the killer targets his victims."

"But we-"

"The mayor hired me to stop this killer. I don't need to work with the police to do that."

"Except-"

"There is no exception, Reeve."

"Would you let me speak!" he snapped. When Atma regarded him with silence, he sighed. "Sorry. What I meant was, if you're going to start looking for him now, then take the report. I'm gonna crash soon whether I want to or not." He reached into his pants pocket and took out his wallet, then slid out a business card and offered it to her along with the folder. "This has my PHS number. Call me if there's an emergency, or I'll see you tomorrow morning."

She accepted both. "Right."

"Good...morning, I guess."

"Afternoon," she corrected him, turning and beginning the walk towards the streets of sector three.

Reeve watched her as she crossed the avenue and turned down a corner, disappearing from view. He took a deep breath and sighed, wondering just how it was possible for someone to be so impersonal to another human being, even if they were once part of the Soldier program. Not even Cloud was that curt or standoffish, nevermind that his Soldier experiences were just imagined. Of course, he might be taking it all the wrong way to his sleep-deprived mind. Rather than debate it, he turned and started his own numbingly long walk to sector two and his apartment and the comfort of a worn down mattress.

First, though, there was business to attend: he needed more coffee to survive the trip home.


	3. Chapter Three

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

 **: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _So much has changed, yet it all feels the same._

 _Without Shin-Ra to guide Midgar into the future, it seems that the people aren't capable of doing it themselves. All our struggles have been to assemble homes and shelter, to divide up the parcels in this ruin to fair and equal parts for every man and woman. Certainly they have their freedom, and it is a good thing, yet I cannot help this sympathy I feel when I see them unable to wield it as it was meant to be. It may be my own foundering concept of freedom, of no longer being leashed to the will of the President, that makes me feel as such. Despite it's evils, Shin-Ra protected these people from an uncertain future. It gave them support, however meager, and left this generation to take it for granted. They are directionless and lacking control. Unmotivated to better their lives._

 _Domino is correct in his presumption that people can only be strong when they have a strong leader._

 _Tragic, then, that he is unsuited to lead by his own assertion._

 _\- Rude_

* * *

 _ **Reeve's Apartment, Sector Two**_

There was a sound like something buzzing, like some monstrous pissed off wasp. It quit, but then started again with the same intensity. Reeve tried to consider what that sound meant while semi-awake, unable to process a clear thought. When the buzzing ended and a sudden melodic ditty began ringing throughout his home, he realized it was his phone. He shuffled out of bed and reached out to the incessant device, flipped it open and put it by his ear.

"This is Reeve," he announced groggily.

"What took you?" a female voice asked. "I've been trying the last five minutes!"

He got to attention quickly at her tone. "Elena?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry, I was asleep. It's been a long day."

"The day's almost half up, though."

"It is?" Reeve looked into the kitchen where his radio clock calmly noted it was a quarter to five. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"Uh-huh."

He sighed. "Okay, so what's up?"

"We found Reno."

She didn't sound thrilled at the idea. "You did? Where was he?"

"Drinking, as usual."

"That's great! Not his drinking, I mean, but that you found him."

A sigh came from the other side of the conversation. "He isn't going to help, though."

That was unexpected. "What? Why not?"

She huffed. "He wouldn't say why. He just blew it off and said people should take care of themselves. He wouldn't even stay long, he...just took off when I tried to reason with him."

"Was he upset?"

"I don't know."

"Does he have his phone?"

"He said he threw it away."

A sigh escaped his lips at that. "Well that's great."

"I told him to come back if he needed a place to stay. He doesn't have anywhere else to crash. At least I don't think he does."

"Well, that's all we can do, then." He tried to think of some way to convince the stubborn Turk to help them, but it seemed like a hopeless effort. Reno was always known as an independent and did as he liked, even when Shinra owned him. Trying to force him into a mission would only piss him off even more, and they didn't need him skipping town and disappearing permanently. "I guess we'll just have to do it without him."

"Will it be okay?"

"We'll be fine," he reiterated. "The mayor had an ex-Soldier brought into the job, so we aren't that desperate."

"An ex-Soldier?" Elena repeated.

"Yeah. Her name is Delita Atma, a second class Soldier, I think."

"Haven't worked with them before."

"She's..." He considered her personality; it wasn't exactly sparkling. "A professional. We can depend on her."

"If you say so."

"She's already investigating where the killer might be finding his victims. We should meet so you two can catch up."

"Okay. There's a diner by our apartment, the Pretty Birdy. Want to meet there?"

"Sure, but is it safe?"

"Safe? It's the usual stuff, bar and decent food, nothing hazardous."

"I meant safe for _us_."

"For..." She paused only a moment before getting the hint. "Oh, that. Yeah, they aren't really anti-Shin-Ra. I don't think they'd recognize you. They don't know us."

"Okay. I'll meet you there at six."

"Why that late?"

Reeve chuckled. "Gotta walk. I really should get a bicycle or something."

Elena snickered just once. "See you at six, then."

"See 'ya."

Reeve ended the call, then set the phone back on the table. He really wished that the trains were back in running order, but without additional electricity, they were stuck. He didn't even want to consider how many kilometers of track needed to be inspected before a train could use it without being derailed. Ironic that he was once city planner for the entire plate system and now he wasn't even referred to for advice on how to rebuild. Not that it mattered. They had to get the basics up and running before they could delve into a luxury like public transportation. He went into the bathroom and relieved himself, then combed his hair into a semblance of order and brushed his teeth. Once done, he dressed and took up his phone to contact Atma.

She sighed before responding. "Atma."

"It's Reeve."

"And?" she prompted right away.

"I'm going to meet with Elena and Rude at a local bar so we can talk about the mission. You should come as well."

"Who are Elena and Rude?"

It dawned on him that he completely forgot to mention them. "Two members of the Turks. They were..." He trailed off.

"...were what?" she asked.

Reeve realized again that Domino wasn't in agreement with having the Turks involvement in the mission, that he wanted nothing to do with them. Sleep deprivation had really robbed him of his common sense! The mayor would surely fly into a rage the instant he found out that Reeve still kept them as members! But he knew that they were willing to participate and go after this killer, and that their expertise in this kind of field would be invaluable. He couldn't just tell them that the deal was off and to find something else to do, not after doing so much to set them up with a home and work. The debate as to their use would just have to go on, and they would need to be kept in the know until it was certain one way or another.

"Reeve?" Her voice cut through his train of thought.

"They're a part of this investigation."

"Okay."

"We're meeting at the Pretty Birdy at six 'o clock. Can you be there by then?"

"I'll be there."

"Thank you."

"Right." She cut the line.

Reeve closed his phone, then put on his shoes and gathered his wallet and keys and left his apartment for sector four.

* * *

 _ **Pretty Birdy Bar and Grill, Sector Four**_

The Pretty Birdy was an impressive establishment for being around so many years, even when the plates were overhead and the land around it in poverty. It rested at a corner of an intersection near the border of sectors three and four, ensuring that any foot traffic nearby was bound to see it's neon signs. It stood two stories tall and was well lit, several windmills spinning lazy circles on the roof like artificial flowers. The walls were painted dull white and clean looking, not marred with dirt or grime or graffiti. Windows were wide and had no drapes to block the view, currently closed and sealed against the wind and cold weather. The entrance was wide open, double doors pinned back to allow the atmosphere to extend into the public and tempt the those who passed by. What was most impressive of all was a great wooden deck extending around the front and side of the building, tables and chairs arranged and crowded as people enjoyed the fresh air. Oil fueled torches lit the place, placed evenly along the railing that separated public from private ground and also mounted on the walls. As Reeve neared it, he corrected himself in thinking it would be another hole in the wall dive.

As he stepped inside he was surprised again as an amply proportioned woman nearly threw herself into his arms in greetings. "Welcome to the Pretty Birdy, sir!"

Reeve backed up a step. "Thank you, miss."

"Are you by yourself or with a party?" she asked.

"I...think some friends of mine are already here."

She smiled and waved him on. "Well, feel free to find them."

Reeve smiled and proceeded inside, wondering if the other waitresses were that bubbly of personality; it felt like a tired cliché that every restaurant had at least one on staff at all times. The interior was more colorful than the outside, themed with reds and blues and literally plastered with years and years of memorabilia from everywhere imaginable. A bar proper made up the center of the floor, tables and booths circling it. Two doors led to the deck, and the kitchen was to the right with a sort of window view to see the cooks as they worked. It felt like a typical place you'd find in the commercial district on the plates, not something in the slums. Reeve looked around for the Turks or Atma as much as he did to admire the sights and the sounds of the place. It took a moment, but he saw the three of them at a corner table with drinks already ordered.

"Hey Elena," he announced.

"Hi Reeve. Glad you could make it."

He took an open seat next to Atma, facing the Turks on the other side. "Thanks. How are you?"

"We're okay." Elena spoke for herself and Rude, then looked over at Atma. The ex-Soldier was almost dead stiff in posture. "Your friend there isn't really the conversational type, though."

"Uh-huh."

"She gave us the reports and her notes." Elena motioned to them in the middle of the table. "She said she made no progress with the locals."

"Oh?" He looked at her for clarification.

"None of them are long time residents, so they couldn't say if someone didn't belong," Atma replied. "Being newcomers, it would be easy to blend in. The killer was deliberate to take people from there."

"Did you learn anything else?"

"No one knew the victims personally that I interviewed."

Reeve sighed. "Well, it's only been a few hours. I wasn't expecting you to find him right away."

"The reports didn't really allude to much," Elena stated. "It's mostly guesswork and rumors from what I read. Hasn't anything concrete been discovered yet?"

"Only that the killer writes the number ninety nine on their right hand. I think it might have something to do with the Jenova project."

"Hn. I'd love to think that he was just some leftover from Hojo's experiments."

"Do you know anything about it?"

She shook her head. "Not much. I know it was top secret, and it's been going on a long time."

"Nearly thirty years, I believe," Rude continued. "It was what led people like Sephiroth to become so powerful. The drawback was that the success ratio was low, near five percent according to rumors."

"So...he might be one of the failed ones?"

"Possibly."

The story sounded familiar. Reeve knew that Cloud was frantic about being a failure, especially when he broke down at the northern crater. Thinking about it, a memory rose up about that incident. Cloud was losing it. Jenova was somehow tormenting him so he would willingly pass the black materia to Sephiroth in whatever he was trapped in. He pleaded with Hojo, begged to be acknowledged...and to be given a number. "Hold on. I remember that Cloud asked Hojo to give him a number at the Northern Crater, but he lashed out and said a failure didn't deserve one. That means only someone who was a success would get a number."

Elena nodded. "Yeah?"

"So...then it means that this killer must be a success!" Reeve sighed. "If only we could look up information at the tower. We could check military records and see if he was involved in any missions. Hell, I just want to know _who_ he is at least!"

"The tower is worthless, through."

"I know, but the chief of police said he would send a portable generator to Domino so we can power up a computer in there and look."

"But where would you find one?"

"That's the catch. There might not be one that we can use."

"Well...crap, that doesn't leave us with much," Elena muttered. "Can't we meet with Domino and speed things up?"

This prodded another problem into the spotlight. Reeve took a deep breath, wondering what to do about that. "We can't."

"Why not?"

Reeve shook is head. He wished he didn't have to tell them the truth like this, but there wasn't going to be an easy time to say it. "Look...Domino said that he doesn't want to have the Turks involved in this case, and I don't think the police chief does either."

Elena looked at Reeve with exasperation in her eyes. "But you said we'd be in on this! You got us a place and pay and everything!"

"I know, but I did this all before I talked it out with the mayor. I thought he would agree, but he still thinks you're just killers who won't obey anyone but Shinra."

"Shinra is dead, Reeve!"

"Tell it to Domino, then! I told him you're the best at this sort of thing, but he wouldn't have any of it. It's just a grudge, else he wouldn't have brought Atma into this. He said that a Soldier can follow orders, but a murderer can't."

She practically snarled at the words. "That's fucking bullshit and you know it."

"I know!" Reeve held up his hands. "I'm just the messenger!"

"Did you talk to him about it?"

"Yes."

"When?" she pressed.

"This morning, but-"

"Call him again and tell it like it is!"

"He wouldn't be there, not this late."

She sighed loudly, long moments passing. "Well, what are we suppose to do then, huh?"

"I'll talk with him tomorrow."

"And what if that doesn't work?!" She waved her hand after that outburst. "No, no, I'm sorry Reeve, I'm just pissed off. I was expecting that we could get a stable job and be done with it. Domino's just using this as an excuse to get his revenge."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She took a large gulp of her drink and sighed again. "So what can we do, then?"

Reeve pondered the question, having thought of it since he woke up from his nap. Domino was definitely not going to let them work on stopping the killer, and wouldn't spare them any sympathy for their plight. It wouldn't surprise him if he snatched away the apartments that Reeve allotted them, claiming they were only for members of the investigation. They certainly wouldn't be getting paid by the city at any rate. The debate started again in his mind: would he just give up and send them away, or could he try and keep them on in secret?

"Reeve?"

"Let me think a minute," he asked. His logic ran in circles trying to figure this out, probing for a way. He couldn't just tell them good luck and evict them into the streets, it would be cruel and against his word. However, Domino wasn't going to let them do anything in regards to the case, and arguing seemed to be a no go with the man. He boiled it down further to see the factors involved. Domino wanted them out on bias, he wanted to keep them for talent and a promise for shelter and employment. Domino controlled the shelter and job, the Turks had their talent, and Reeve his promise to them. It eventually came down to money, which wasn't a surprise. He thought about his savings and decided.

"Okay, I'll pay your rent and salary."

That made Elena start. "You'd...? No, you can't do that-"

"I can and want to." Reeve gestured with his hand at them. "I promised you that I'd find you a job and a place to call home. Working on this case did both until Domino screwed you over. If I pay for your expenses to keep you working on the case, who says I need to tell him? There won't be a money trail for him to follow, and he can't pry into my private bank records."

"But, but it's _your_ money we're talking about!"

Reeve waved the concern off. "I was paid a lot to work for Shin-Ra, and even more when coerced into playing the part of Cait Sith. It won't be much of a burden."

"But all the records were lost when..."

"The tower was attacked, yes. I was planning to leave the company, so I transferred my money to Junon. It was only a few days before Meteor appeared and they froze their assets to stop a market crash."

Elena looked surprised, a smile on her lips showing after a few seconds. "That's pretty low for a leading company executive to do."

Reeve felt that grin on his own lips. "Considering who it was from, I don't regret it."

"How much did...no, I shouldn't ask."

"It's enough. I was planning to retire to Costa del Sol one day, but I guess I'll just make due here."

Elena fumbled for words to argue against his case, but she fell silent. Rude stirred. "Thank you, Reeve."

"It's no problem. I can't let Domino decide this and risk more lives because you two weren't there to help."

"Dinner and drinks on me, then," Elena insisted. "I'm not that poor yet."

* * *

 _ **Merchant Corner, Sector Three**_

The normally busy intersection of two commercial streets was eerily quiet, the number of people on the streets and the number of vendors with their carts at a low that hadn't been seen in nearly a month. Two large police trucks were stationed at the entrance to a street, one at the beginning and the other further down, both with their red and blues flickering. A few officers were directing people away from the scene, a small gathering of onlookers peering beyond the truck and to the mysterious going ons down that lonesome avenue. Other police were talking to nervous and panicky individuals, taking down notes and comforting them with promises and hopes. Two people stood by the alleyway, one stooped on her toes and the other watching with a detached expression.

"Well?"

The woman looked back, brushing a lock of deep black hair behind her ear. "It's his work, alright."

"Shit," he swore.

"Varik, this is getting out of hand," she commented.

"I know that!" Varik spat and looked back at the body. "How did he die, Zera?"

"I don't know for certain, yet." She regarded the stiff, his eyes open and staring into nothingness. "It wouldn't surprise me if it was organ failure. Some of his victim's just...gave up, shut down just like that." She snapped her fingers to accent the speed.

"Well, that's just great." He snorted in frustration. Two policemen appeared from farther down the alley, both wearing rubber gloves and carrying bags on their shoulders. Varik looked at them, and they didn't seemed pleased. "Anything?"

"Nah," one of them replied. "There's junk all over the place. I can't tell what belongs and what doesn't."

"Any personal items? Blood?"

"No."

Varik growled. "Alright. Let's get this guy to the morgue."

"Should we call off the search?"

"No." He looked down the alley, deep into the darkness between the walls to the streets and homes thereafter. "He's out there. If he's watching, better let him see that we aren't giving in so easily."

"Okay."

"Widen the search parameter to eight blocks."

"Yessir."

Varik turned and stormed away to one of the trucks as the coroners arrived. He felt his blood at a boil, hands clasping over and over with the hope that one day the serial killer's neck would be there. How many people would he kill before he was finally stopped? How many other Soldiers would go nuts like him and start killing at random? It would only take a little longer before the entire city was cowering in fear of lunatics on the prowl. The animal ferocity displayed by the Soldiers he had arrested was more than proof to show they were monsters, lower than animals, undeserving of pity or second chances; that he was supposed to work with one made him all the angrier. Domino had to be insane to let Shin-Ra have any place in this new age!

His phone rang from his shirt pocket which he answered gruffly. "What?"

"Sir, you need to come back. Now."

"Why?"

"Someone just showed up looking for his brother." The other end paused a moment. "We think he's seen the killer."

* * *

The interior of the precinct was quieter than normal, people carrying on with their routines as usual but always with an ear turned towards the boy and the officer who was talking with him. They had nearly taken on the task of interrogating the child when he first stepped inside, terrified and looking more afraid of the police than the serial killer. He meekly asked someone for help, that someone kidnapped his brother and that he didn't know what else to do. After they sat him down and began asking the usual questions, he admitted that he saw the act itself. When they took down the specifics, someone realized that they were familiar and looked at the case on the killer. They matched with a previous victim, picture and all. The boy fell apart on the spot, and had been wailing in the arms of a female officer when Varik raced inside like a thunderstorm.

"Where's the kid?" he immediately asked the nearest officer. He didn't wait for the reply, seeing the boy at a corner desk, and hustled over while trying to collect himself and put on a friendly face. He didn't much like kids, especially the ones that were all tears and fears like the boy looked. Desire looked tired of the sight already. The boy was sitting on a chair with his face slick and eyes red.

"He's-"

"Yes," she nodded.

"What's his name?"

"Will."

Varik nodded, then took a deep breath and prayed for all the patience the planet could spare. He grabbed another chair and sat down near the hiccuping boy, leaning a little. "Hey Will."

The boy sniffled, looking up at him.

"How are you doing?"

"I-I'm okay..." He wiped his hand across his nose.

"That's good. My name is Varik, and I'm the chief of police for the city." He struggled for the proper words, hoping to keep the kid calm. "Miss Desire said that your brother was kidnapped?"

"Uh-huh."

"Does you momma and papa know?"

"They're gone. My brother was takin' care of me, an' said we had to...to look out for each other 'an I had to be good while he worked."

"What's your brother's name?"

"S-Samson."

"And where did Samson work?"

"At the homes on yellow bird street."

"What did he do?"

"He was a...a carpenter. He cut wood. He always smelled like sawdust."

Varik nodded. He saw Desire taking down notes as they were revealed, copying them and passing them to others so they could reference the street and the crime scenes. He was glad she was on the ball, as was everyone else. This could be the break they were looking for, or the start to one.

"Okay." He steeled himself. "Will, do you think you can answer some other questions for me? Like who kidnapped your brother?"

The kid nodded weakly.

"Are you sure?"

He repeated the motion.

"Okay. Can you remember what he looked like?"

"Sort of." The kid rubbed his hair back. "He was tall an' looked all muscley."

"You remember what color his hair was?"

"Black."

"His skin?"

"Brown. Dirty."

"Did you see his eyes?"

He shook his head.

"Did he have any scars or tattoos?"

He shook his head.

"Did you hear him say anything?"

Another shake.

Varik nodded, then patted the boy's shoulder. "Okay. You did really good, Will. Thanks a lot."

The child nodded, face inexpressive.

Varik stood and leaned close to Desire. "Get him with Lor so he can sketch out a mugshot. I want a face to the bastard."

"Right, but after Lor's done with him, what then?"

The chief rolled his eyes, wondering why she had to ask that. "Find him a boarding house."

Varik stood and went back to the table where all his planning has gone without fruition. He looked at the map, checking throughout the streets in search of yellow bird. It took a minute to find, and the road stretched throughout the sector and ran straight through the general mess of pins where the bodies had been found. The boy's lost brother was found just a few blocks away from yellow bird. The chief felt a grin tug on his lips. Depending on where the apartments the guy worked at were, they could estimate the distance the killer would move from the kidnapping spot to the drop off for the body. It would give them a much needed radius to work with, and, after placing that radius around each body, the territory their killer called his home.

* * *

 _ **Somewhere in Sector Two**_

Yukio ran as fast as his legs would allow in the clogged alleyway, feet diving into open patches of dirt so he didn't slip on refuse. His arms pumped back and forth parallel to his legs to reduce cramps. His heart pumped furiously and his lungs burned with exertion, but it wasn't trying his limits yet. He had the endurance to run this pace for a few kilometers before he tired, and even that wouldn't slow him greatly. The figure, little more than a shadow in the darkness between ruined homes, would have to be tough to outrun his pursuer. Yukio suspected he was only third class, and probably a weak example at that. Still, Holt and Lari were tailing him down other roads, blocking his available routs and forcing him in a direction of their choosing; it was always best to be on guard, especially when dealing with their own kind on the run. Soldiers tended to reflect wild animals in their reaction to being chased and cornered.

The prey suddenly bolted to the right, and Yukio knew it was the end of this pursuit. He slowed down and reached into his jacket, pulling out and extending a riot stick. The metal clicked into place, and he turned the corner and assumed a defensive position in case the victim was trying to be sneaky, but the person was still going at full tilt towards the end of the alley and an open street. Holt stepped in to block his path, also armed with a baton. The third class skidded to a stop, and knowing he was pinned, raised up his right arm and tugged down the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a slot bracelet with all four pegs occupied with green orbs. Yukio swore silently, gritting his teeth.

"Don't even try it!" the third class shouted. "I'll fry you fuckers before you even blink!"

"Give it up, kid!" Holt ordered. "You aren't going anywhere."

"Like shit!" He leveled his arm at Holt, the limb shaking. "Gimme a break! We're all Soldiers, we oughta be running this piece of crap city! Who the hell can stop us?!"

"We can. This isn't like the old days, so quit acting all high and mighty. We're gonna have to get used to living like normal humans."

"Like hell I am! I'm gonna carve me out an empire in here, and no one's gonna fuck with me!"

"I'm telling you, kid, this isn't going to end well if you don't give me that bracelet," Holt warned. He took a step forward and held out his hand. "Let's have it."

"S-Stay the fuck back! I'll burn you, I swear I will!"

The third class shivered, and he held up his hand to keep the man at a distance. What he forgot was Yukio, who was taking silent and measured steps closer to the rogue, vision focused and his muscles tensed like coils. He was thirty paces away when the rogue adjusted his feet, getting ready to look back. Yukio gritted his teeth and bolted, tearing up the meters and leaning forward to let inertia aid his charge. He wasn't quick enough, however, and the rogue saw the charging Soldier and pointed his hand at him like it were a gun. A mist of sparkling light danced around his palm, and suddenly the ground ahead of him roared into a violent orange and yellow fire. The rogue grinned at his work, but suddenly the expression retreated to terror as it dawned on him that he had forgot about the other one. He spun on his heels in time to see Holt ducking to his side, the gray blur of the baton sailing down faster than his muscles could react. The blow across the face sent the rogue down onto the ground with a mute thud, spraying blood from his mouth and nose. Holt stomped on the rogue's arm to hold it still, and he stooped down and undid the lock for the bracelet and removed the hazard. The fires ahead had died away as quickly as they arose, a faint whiff of smoke trailing into the sky.

"You okay, Yukio?" Holt asked casually.

The Soldier, standing prone with his arms covering his face, shuddered. "Damn it..."

"Yeah, I didn't think the kid'd do it, either." Holt held up the bracelet and touched each green orb, inspecting them. He grinned and chuckled. "Hey, lucky you. He's got a healing materia on him."

Yukio lowered his arms gingerly, trying not to aggravate burnt flesh. He stood straight and looked at himself, seeing that his clothes were all but ruined. His arms didn't look badly burned, but the pain was something outrageous. All things considered, there was no reason to not accept the obvious. "Cure me."

"Sure thing, bossman." Holt snapped the bracelet on, them lifted his arm and muttered the incantation for the spell. A green glow arose around Yukio's body, and tendrils of light wove around his arms like threads of mist. The blackened cells sloughed off, revealing pink and fresh skin below. The pain subsided, and he let loose a shuddering sigh. Healing spells always felt awkward for him, as did most magic in general. He felt more at home with the knowledge of his body and it's limits, not trying to force his chakra into an oversized mako marble so he could use some ancient power. The green mist faded away, and his wounds looked and felt much better. A days rest and burn patches would take care of the rest.

"Fuck me, I missed it?"

Yukio and Holt looked back to see their third member jog down the alley to meet them, a mythril tinted sword in her hand.

"I'd love to, Lari, but you keep saying no," Holt replied with a grin.

Lari frowned, homing the blade in the scabbard on her back. "If you'd clean up and stop acting like you're twelve I might."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Whatever."

"No matter." Yukio looked down at the fallen Soldier. "He's clearly not going to convert, so we can dump him anytime."

"He had-"

"Yes. Four orbs."

"Cool." Lari arched an eyebrow. "What kind?"

"Two fire based, one healing and one lightning," Holt answered.

"Freakin' pyro, eh?"

"No kidding." He looked at Yukio. "So, we taking him or what?"

"Hold on." Yukio stepped next to the third and kicked him square in the gut. The third class gasped and curled up, and the others jumped at the start. "He's still awake."

Lari stepped forward. "Let me handle it. You already had some fun without me."

Yukio nodded. "Alright, but don't mess him up too much."

The woman snickered, then knelt and grabbed the rogue by his shirt and picked him up so he nearly dangled by his feet. She smiled as the youth tried to focus on his oppressor, face swollen with a large red welt. "You hear that, sprog? We're gonna have us some fun."

* * *

The apartment building was one of the few that the slums was capable of building during Shin-Ra's reign over Midgar. It was three floors in height, built with the best material available, which meant it was barely able to pass any rigorous inspection for safety standards. However, the poor didn't care how safe it was so long as it kept out the cold and unwelcome scavengers. The residents were always transient, few able to pay the weekly rent for a single room, most staying as long as precious gil would last. The locals jokingly referred to it as the only successful hotel in the slums.

Once Meteor arrived overhead, looming crimson throughout the day and night, the building was all but abandoned as people fled away expecting that the whole city was going to be crushed beneath it. When it was destroyed and the plates all collapsed onto the earth below, the apartment was trapped amidst the wreckage of the surface city and lost to the outside world. It took two months before it was uncovered, the rubble cleared away, the damage repaired, and declared safe for occupation and slotted to be used for emergency shelter. It took a while, but the new governing body assigned an ex-Soldier to manage the building, knowing he could give them adequate leadership. Yukio felt it was an insult to go from ranking member of Shin-Ra's armed forces to a lowly superintendent, but he swallowed his pride since it meant income and a home. However, he didn't immediately allow in anyone who came knocking for sanctuary. He had something else in mind.

Some of his old comrades from the division had been around the area, eeking out a miserable life in shacks and scrounging for food. Yukio searched throughout the neighborhood and gave them rooms in his apartment free of rent, the only clause was that they helped him look for other Soldiers so he could get them a place to stay. He knew the danger they posed, recalling endless scraps in the barracks and threats; rumors of theft, attempted murder and rape that occurred up and down the ranks. That kind of danger could cripple Midgar before it ever had a chance. As much as it hurt him to consider the course he plotted, he had to go ahead with it: Any Soldier he found had two choices, either get a room at his building and shape up for civilian life, or try and fight and end up at the staircase of the nearest jailhouse. So far Yukio was distraught at how the majority chose to fight and get their kicks while they could. He didn't think so many Soldiers were that ravenous for the battlefield and the prospect of power through fear and intimidation. Apparently his perception of people was flawed more than he realized.

The recent rogue was just another nameless face on that list, but each one brought in meant that Midgar was that much safer. Yukio hoped he would be able to keep this up for the long run, especially against any first class that roamed the sectors. He had only recruited three second class and nine third, and they were all weak from a lack of disciplined training. While they were improving from his rigorous regimes and the hunt, he wasn't sure if it would be enough if push came to shove. The rumors of Soldiers going off the deep end and killing at random was a terrifying thought. If even one was armed for battle, he could cause incredible harm to the city and it's people; riot sticks and close range weapons wouldn't matter if the enemy had materia or guns. However, now that he had four more materia of his own, he allowed himself a little relief at the extra leverage he could use to persuade others to his side.

"You look thoughtful."

Yukio glanced at Farrah from the kitchen table, the woman busy stirring a cooking pot that sat on an electric cooking range. She wasn't even looking his way, leading him to wonder why she spoke up. He had stopped in to get a jug of water to drink, resting a minute meanwhile.

"You normally don't stick around here," she added. "You're usually out hunting or training."

"I was careless today. I let a third class scorch me with a _fire_ spell."

She chuckled. "Even our boss has his weak moments, huh?"

"Hardly." Yukio studied the orbs in his hand. Each looked innocent enough, but he could sense the potential lurking beneath the surface, the physical memories of a talent that let everyday people manipulate the forces of nature and ether. He knew what materia could do in the right hands; he still felt pain from that fire, and all it took was the panic of a weakling like that kid to make it happen. A trained and experienced first class would probably be able to incinerate a whole house in one go with an orb.

"Those things freak you out?" she asked.

"Somewhat," Yukio admitted. "I'm not comfortable with the idea of magic. It's too..."

"Magical?" she suggested. "Too mysterious for our down to earth commander?"

"Since when did you learn to read my mind?" he asked in good humor.

At this Farrah finally turned away from her labor to wink at the Soldier. "Can't give away all my secrets, sugar."

Yukio chuckled. Farrah was a strange woman. She was older than most of the Soldiers here by a good ten years, but age hadn't impeded on her youthful attitude. She mothered them whenever she could, yet would flirt boldly with the men if the mood was right. He didn't know if any of them succeeded in bedding her, but her casual friendship with them all suggested not. She had been here since he was given the task of managing the building, and kept up the rent payments in addition to keeping house throughout. She hardly ever complained, never batted an eye at their tasks or when they returned bloodied and still flying on adrenaline. She was happy just to work and enjoy the aura of safety the Soldiers exerted on the block.

"What are you cooking?"

"It should be a stew, but its looking more like thick vegetable soup at the moment. It isn't the same without good meat."

"We appreciate it anyway."

"Like hell you will, or you can try and cook yourself."

"Alright, alright." Yukio stood, putting the orbs back into the slot bracelet. He took care not to aggravate his arms, the skin currently wrapped with bandages and ointments.

"Damn it. Supper will be ready in fifteen minutes, it'll just have to do as soup."

"Okay."

Yukio left the kitchen and walked to the staircase, heading up to the third floor where the armory and the training room was. He had knocked down the walls so the entire floor was open for practice save a room for weapons. Once there, he smiled when he saw most of the third class doing stretches under the supervision of Stoke, their resident instructor. Lari was sharpening her sword and knives and Holt was benching weights with some mismatched equipment. Yukio walked through and to the door, opening it with a metallic creak. Inside there were shelves that held their small store of arms and assorted melee weapons. He went to a corner and opened up a large metal safebox, revealing a padded interior where three other green orbs and a single red orb sat. He put the bracelet in there and closed it, then left and watched the thirds exercise. He felt the unfamiliar weight of leadership press on his consciousness, recalling how often they called him boss and how they all looked to him for inspiration and command. He had only been stationed with the hundred and thirty third, monster patrol around reactors one and two. He was used to working with three others, not leading a near dozen.

"Hey Yukio."

He looked to Holt, the Soldier sitting on the bench with a rag wiping his face and neck. "What?"

"You think we should go back there?"

"I don't see why."

"You know damn well why," Holt complained. "That kid was waiting for _someone_ to show up. What if it was another Soldier? We could have bagged him, or tailed him. I want to see if anyone's still waiting."

"It's more important to get what we can at the time, not wait and risk exposure."

"Jeez, it's that kind of logic that's going to ruin us."

"Keep it down," Yukio warned.

"I'll say it however loud I like!" he shouted.

Yukio glanced at the thirds, and to Stoke's credit, they were totally absorbed into the exercise routine and hadn't stopped to look; but ears still heard even while distracted. Holt had been more vocal about leading his own hunt the past days, saying that he was qualified enough for the job. Yukio couldn't fault him that, but the man was more in tune with combat than leadership. Even if they were ranked the same, technically he was highest qualified among them all and closest to be promoted to first class. Yukio wanted to keep control of the hunt simply because he needed to ensure the Soldiers trusted to work with them were on the level. One had feinted loyalty and tried to steal their weapons during the night. He was killed right on the floor he tread, neck broken by an overzealous third. Holt could fight, but Yukio didn't think he had it to see into a man's soul and _know_ he wouldn't betray them.

"Holt, this isn't the time."

"Then when?" he stressed.

"Soon."

"That's no excuse. What, you don't trust me? Is that it?"

"No, I trust you, I just-"

"Then let me prove it to you! I can bag a Soldier and make him _beg_ to join us, I just need a chance to-"

Yukio held up a hand to stop Holt. "Just give me more time! So far only we go out for the hunt and the thirds stay here. I want to get them at peak condition so we don't have to go it alone. Best case scenario is each of us goes out with a few of them as extra muscle, that way we can cover more ground and recruit more people. It's an upward spiral from there, but I need time to prepare us so it doesn't fail when we start."

"How much time?"

"A week at most. Is that okay?"

Holt didn't appear thrilled at the idea, but he shrugged and sighed. "Fine."

Yukio took a breath, watching the man walk away to the stairwell. He had been toying with that concept ever since he started this plan, and it never seemed any better than it sounded. He only trusted second class to lead since the thirds were only given combat training, not any classes for tactics or improving leadership qualities. At best he would be given the honor of commander, Holt and the others as sergeants, and the rest as grunts. It was the same tried and true formula that worked for every army he knew of, but it was also prone to the weaknesses of any military. Dissent would be commonplace, unity difficult to enforce, and there was always the danger posed by the sector police and the growing city government. If Mayor Domino knew that a group of Soldiers were forming a block of power in his city, it might mean a confrontation with them and civil war. It was already difficult to find police stations and jails to drop the rogue Soldiers at without leaving evidence of the force behind it. Letting his mission expand would only increase that danger, but his morality wouldn't let him rest knowing dangerous Soldiers were on the prowl. He accepted the risk as it stood for the moment. How long it stayed the same was a question he didn't have an answer for.

"You're brooding again."

Yukio looked at Lari, who was standing at his side and looking out a window to the city ahead. While three stories up wasn't high enough to grant a dominating view of the land, it was higher than most and offered a view of the sector, a maze of alleys and streets surrounding roofs and chimneys. The ruined tower stood to the far right, the standing plates shrouding the land in shadow. It was imposing, treacherous. Hundreds of Soldiers were somewhere out there, each of them a potential disaster waiting to explode.

"I suppose I am."

"You shouldn't," she chided. "Thinkin' about the world only makes you forget about what's right in front of your face."

"Since when did you become so philosophical?"

"Hey, I can be deep if I like. I just don't care for it much."

"Hurts your head?"

She sneered at him. "Oho, that just did. You ain't cut out for humor."

Yukio snorted.

Lari looked back out the window. "So you think it's gonna work?"

"It has to work." Yukio placed a hand on the window, rubbing it back and forth to clear the grime away. "Most of us won't go rogue, but those few who will are all it'll take to break this city. It's our responsibility to make sure that our comrades don't ruin Midgar's last chance at redemption. I suppose you could say it's our last order before we can return to normal lives."

"I don't remember a time in my life that I called 'normal'," Lari muttered.

"I know."

"So what can we _do_ once it's all done? It's good and all to be takin' the moral high road, but we gotta do _somethin'_ with ourselves once were through."

Still more questions he couldn't answer. "We'll cross that bridge once we get there."

* * *

 _ **The Pretty Birdy Bar and Grill**_

Later, after dining and casual banter, the group opted to call it a day. The sky had lost it's color for the inky darkness of night, the moon a dull while spot by the horizon. The crowd at the grill had become large and boisterous, many barflies regaling stories to the delight of their sloshed brethren; without television, there were no fanatics shouting at the screen for their preferred chocobo at the races. It was noted that two bouncers were standing within earshot of the entrance, trying to hide themselves in shadows and neutral clothes. Just another reminder of the environment the place existed in. The four stood in the illumination of the bar to make their separate ways.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" Elena ran her hand through her hair.

"Probably. I'll make a copy of that report for you and Rude."

"Thanks."

"Goodnight, Elena."

"G'night."

Reeve and Elena turned to begin the walk back to their homes, then both noted that their counterparts were still standing by one another and stopped to see what the matter was. Atma was looking Rude's way, but the Turk's shades masked where he looked. Before either could ask, Rude broke the silence.

"Can I ask you something?"

Atma nodded. "Yes."

"You were part of operation Black Mambo?"

"Yes."

"Kurashido block?"

"Yes."

Rude nudged his shades up the bridge of his nose. "I see."

"Fujiko House?" she asked in return.

Rude nodded.

"I understand."

The two turned and began back to their homes, passing their confused partners. Elena didn't speak a word, only fell in with Rude's long stride. Reeve followed Atma as she walked by. He wondered what that exchange was about, what this operation was and what those names meant. The ex-Soldier didn't seem affected by them, but the solemn questioning almost made it feel like a taboo subject to talk about in the open. He pondered it for a long minute, then got up the courage to ask.

"Do you know Rude?"

"No," she replied evenly.

"Then-"

"It's nothing," she said tersely. "Don't ask me again."

Reeve abandoned the questions, bobbing his head at her demand. It seemed that she might have been more important than she let on if she knew someone like Rude when Shin-Ra ruled. The Turks hadn't done any newsworthy operations for a few years, save the concealed one that brought down the sector seven plate. He had never even heard of a time that they worked alongside Soldiers for any sort of major task, the two departments were too different for such a thing. After a minute of thought, he reminded himself to follow his own credo, to forget about the past and work for a better future. He put the conversation behind him and considered the matters at hand.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder.


	4. Chapter Four

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

 **: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _The days are getting longer, it seems, not because of the seasons, but because of responsibilities._

 _We've been working so hard to bring Midgar back up from the grave. I never knew that it was so bad down here, that the people were so listless and morose. Even with streets and homes being built or fixed, it feels like we're just making a fancy coffin for ourselves. Crime, poverty, death, ignorance and hatred, it's all festering in this place, feeding off of hope and burying it into the earth. Those who could leave already have, and only the poor remain, only the hopeless and loveless linger in these sectors._

 _I saw someone kill himself by jumping off a crane. He didn't even struggle in the air, didn't even flinch. When he hit the ground..._

 _God, the sound was horrible. It made me sick all through my body. It was so final. So brief. I felt like I could curl up and die. I think a part of me did._

 _This can't go on. It has to end before we all end up like him._

 _\- Elena_

* * *

 _ **Turks' Apartment, Sector Four**_

The electronic alarm went off, a shrill buzzing piercing the silence of the bedroom and disturbing Elena from the deserving rest she sought. She grabbed a handful of quilt and tossed it away, sliding legs off the mattress and standing with a shiver on the cold wood floor. She plodded to the noisesome clock and flicked it off, staring at the hands that read seven AM. She rubbed here eyes and took a deep breath, held it in a second, then exhaled; another day, another challenge. Even though waking at seven was sleeping in for her, being up until one in the morning meant the difference wasn't to her favor. Interviews, reviewing reports, plotting and scheming took up most hours of the day, and her work ethic didn't easily let her quit a task just because of a minor thing like time. Walking throughout the streets of Midgar at the same time compounded that exhaustion. She considered going with Reeve and getting a bicycle of her own.

Sufficiently awake, Elena walked around her bed and to the small dressing cabinet, opening the doors. She took up a brush and began taming her hair, noting in the mirror that it was nearly at shoulder length. Just another thing on the growing list of concerns to worry about later. A hairtie pinned it at the back of her neck, and a bathrobe went over her checkered pajamas. She opened her door and walked down the hall to the kitchen, hearing the shower running in the bathroom. She opened the refrigerator and took out a battered coffee tin, added a scoop of grounds to the brewing machine, poured water, then demanded it make a fresh pot. As it began to gurgle and boil the water, she took out eggs and bread for toast. The smells of breakfast began to accumulate, and hunger brought Elena completely out of her groggy senses. The door to the bathroom opened.

"Breakfast's almost ready," she called at the wall, knowing Rude would hear her.

The brewer began to sputter, droplets of coffee pattering into the pot. Eventually a steady stream began to fill it, and the eggs were nearly done. She dashed in some salt and a little pepper, waiting on the toaster. As soon as it popped up with a clunk, she took the slices out and dropped them on a plate, put an egg on one and sandwiched it for herself. She wished there was ham to add, but meats were on short supply and difficult to find. By the time she finished Rude was walking to her side to take the light meal and a mug for coffee. They sat at the table and ate in silence. It was almost an art the way their morning started, how she finished the preparations just as Rude finished shaving regardless of what there was to eat. The silence was unintentional, however; Rude was never one for idle talk and Elena didn't want to force it on him. Even living together for two months hadn't really broken any barriers between them. She just didn't know what to say. She wished Reno was with them so he would talk up a storm about anything under the sun like he usually did. It had been three days and he hadn't called them or stopped by at all.

Rude stood and took his flatware to the sink, rinsing them clean and putting them into the basin. "Thank you," he added.

"You don't need to," Elena replied.

"I don't want you to feel unappreciated," he continued.

"Rude?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You may."

Elena fidgeted with her mug, turning it in her hands. She didn't want to ask this, but the question had been burning ever since the night at the Pretty Birdy. What was it that he and that Soldier talked about? Her overthinking of that minute made her think and speculate, invited wild theories and reasons into her considerations. Something about it had convinced her that his attitude, perhaps his whole life, had been deeply affected by whatever he referred to. She took a breath and wished for courage. "What was operation Black Mambo?"

The dead silence prompted her to look at him directly, and she was stunned at his expression. Without his trademark sunglasses to hide his eyes, she could tell that he was genuinely surprised. Somewhere deeper, she imagined that he looked frightened about whatever it was. As the seconds wore on, Elena feared that she offended him or unearthed some horrible memory that he didn't want to recall. She retreated from her question rapidly. "Oh, I'm such an idiot! I shouldn't have asked, I didn't mean anything by it-"

"It's okay," he said. When Elena continued to babble apologies, he took a step closer. " _Elena_."

Hearing her name paused her rant. "Huh?"

"It's okay, Elena. You haven't upset me."

"But I-"

He held up a hand, ending her apology. "I understand."

"You don't have to answer. It was stupid of me to even ask you something that personal."

Rude sighed, taking his seat and leaning on the surface of the table. "No. I'll answer your question."

"But only if you want to!"

"I do," he answered.

Elena remained silent at his response, wondering just what she got herself into.

Rude took a breath and exhaled, closing his eyes a moment. When he spoke, he remained still and folded his hands together. It looked as if he were pleading his case to a judge, or at a confession. His gaze was lost on the tabletop, staring somewhere other than the present, when he began.

"It was far before your time, or even Reno's, when the operation was carried out. Two years post-Wutai, to be exact. President Shinra, to preserve his wartime powers, inflated the danger of reprisal from Wutai to a boiling point. Wutaian citizens were accused of being spies, of plotting terrorist attacks, of spreading dissent and hatred to the masses. While the danger posed by Wutai was small, it was still substantial. A known nationalist zealot and accomplices had been seen in Midgar, and rumors spread in accordance. The President feared that if enough of these foreign agents began demonstrating it might lead to civil unrest and economic turbulence. Shin-Ra as a government was still too weak to handle such a crisis.

"To amend this problem, he ordered the sector police to investigate the influence of these zealots in the economy. By the time the plan was fully underway, a nationalist edge was seen in nearly all businesses in the Wutaian market. When any investigation was made, their lawyers would defend them harshly and prevent any meaningful insights. The zealots integrated themselves into the market faster than anyone anticipated, and it wasn't long before rumors arose of yakuza behind the scenes. Black Mambo was first created shortly thereafter, calling on two departments to work together. One was Soldier in proxy to the police. The other was a new unit made by the President and created specifically to combat any danger to Shin-Ra as a government, the Turks."

Elena took in the details and burned them into her memory. She hadn't ever heard Rude speak this much before, possibly not in all the time she had known him. It sounded like he knew about this from personal experience, that he had been there since the start. She didn't think he was that old to be there for so many years ago; then again, she didn't even know how old he was.

"The Turks were small, then. Tseng was given command because of and despite his Wutaian heritage and his skill as a negotiator. Others were transferred from Soldier because of their talent, and some from various departments that showed promise. I came from the sector police, narcotics division. We were trained heavily in hand to hand combat, in stealth ops and interrogation. Our skills were tooled specifically to the premise of Black Mambo: we were to infiltrate a Wutaian neighborhood in sector four, make contacts and determine the strength of local yakuza, then storm that same neighborhood in one night and remove the entire organization by capturing the leaders and killing all others whom they controlled. We were justified in our actions and none of the survivors could speak against us; would the yakuza admit their crimes to accuse us of ours?

"By the time Black Mambo was poised to start, the team had to be expanded to accommodate our needs. Since the Turks were special, many Soldiers were brought in and given crash training to compensate. Tseng argued this fault, but the President saw no other alternative. We transferred in starting June tenth, ending the thirteenth. It was two-twenty AM on June fourteenth that Black Mambo was executed. Details are inherently vague due to the nature of the operation, but it was declared as an overall success. Success, however, is variable to the eyes of the public. Two names were given to the atrocities that we committed, to our victories: Kurashido Block and Fujiko House.

"Kurashido Block was the center of the Wutaian neighborhood and home to it's wealthiest businessmen. The Turks, given a chance to use stealth firstmost, kidnapped those men from their homes and took them to the Shin-Ra tower. However, the Soldiers assigned as escort were ambushed by yakuza members. They held their ground so Turks could escape. However, rather than use a calculated retreat as planned, the Soldiers pushed forward and carried the fight back to yakuza safehouses and innocent homes. The firefight lasted through the night until both sides abandoned their quarrel as the sector police wedged itself in to establish control. Nearly eighty yakuza were killed along with fifty civilians in crossfire and as failed hostages. Eight Soldiers died, the remaining twenty two were wounded.

"Fujiko House was the name given to the richest and most influential businessman in the block. We had information that he was the chief of the yakuza for all of Midgar. His home was a mansion surrounded by parks and koi ponds, all public property and clear to the advantage of defenders. Tseng and the most skilled of the Turks were given the task of kidnapping him and his family. The home was protected by loyalists and casualties were many, but eventually entrance was gained. However, Fujiko House did everything possible to prevent any of his family from being taken."

Here Rude paused, mouth working as if to find the right words to describe what came next. "He...he had killed his wife, his father and mother, his sister, his three children, and then himself. He did it before we even gained entry."

Elena held back a gasp, her hands pressed against her mouth. Before she could tell him to stop he continued in that same even voice.

"Black Mambo ended at five-thirty AM a success. The yakuza were broken, several ranking members of an anti-Shin-Ra movement were captured, and carefully administered reports and statements turned this into a well planned military operation to prevent these radicals from attacking the city. Outrage flooded the streets from Wutaian population, but the majority ignored their protests and scorned them into silence. Eventually any negative thought on the operation was forgotten, only a strike against the enemies of Midgar remained in the minds of it's people. The captured yakuza leaders were tried and proven guilty of various crimes, then they quietly disappeared. None of the interrogations led to any further successful action against the yakuza, and their numbers never recovered or garnered such levels of power again. Since then Wutai has taken no aggressive actions against Shin-Ra. The impact of Black Mambo was never truly studied to see if it aided or restrained this change."

Rude ended his speech without finesse, remaining still in his chair. Elena, having since crossed her arms, felt an unwanted shiver run along her spine. The story, the vast amount of information and history, all felt so heavy in her mind. She nearly felt a blush on her cheeks in shame at the actions taken against those people, of the tragedy brought on all those innocents by her company. The Soldier woman with them admitted something about Kurashido Block, and Rude did as well. It struck her suddenly that if he was at Fujiko House, then he must have seen-

"I'm sorry!" she shouted.

He finally looked up. "What for?"

"You were there, and you must've seen...I shouldn't have done this-"

"Elena, I already said that it's okay," Rude reiterated, calming her down. "I meant it. It's in the past. It doesn't bother me any longer."

Elena mouthed apologies, but the words never made it to her lips. Her head hung low, wondering why she kept trying to mend ties that hadn't broken. She looked back to him and saw his expression, his depthless patience. She wondered how he managed it considering the people he associated with. She was glad that he wasn't upset at her.

"I'm sorry for apologizing so much," she said without humor.

"It's alright." He stood and tucked the chair in. "You should bathe, it's already a quarter to eight."

Elena looked at the clock to confirm this. All the talk had been too serious to broach so early in the morning, she felt ready to have a drink and digest everything that he told her. A small smile tugged at her lips as he lit a cigarette and took a drag, exhaling thin wisps of smoke through his nose. Even if it was of a macabre nature, she ended up learning a little more about his past and his life. It was a start.

* * *

 _ **South Gate, Sector Four**_

The atmosphere around the sector was morose and solemn, not that it was of any shock; the people of the slums had lost many friends and family members when the meteor wrought its havoc on the plates and the delicate homes below. Ever since they had been trying to unearth the rubble and to honor the dead, to rebuild something from their broken lives, here especially at the entrance to the still ravaged fifth sector. Domino, followed by his long-time assistant Hart Adagio, found himself between emotions in this place. He felt guilty that the city was ruined because Shin-Ra refused to evacuate them when it seemed inevitable that Midgar was to be struck, but also proud that he finally had a chance to correct those errors and prove himself to be worthy of his title. As always, he put up a front of collected wisdom for those who recognized him in the streets, greeting the few who approached. However, there was one person whom the mayor was seeking specifically in the streets.

"That's him," Hart announced, looking just inside the cleared gate to sector five.

"I know," Domino replied, taking measured strides to meet with the person leaning on a fallen hunk of metal. He was barrel chested and muscled like a bull, arms crossed but not well enough to hide the mechanical traces of a gun-arm. He watched Domino from the corner of an eye, but otherwise showed no sign of activity. When they were close enough to speak, the mayor folded his hands in front of himself and tried to look placid and mannered. "Hello, mister Wallace."

"An' how-de-do to you, mister mayor," Barret drawled.

"I'm glad you decided to meet with me."

"I'm a busy man, Domino, so get to the point."

"Right." Domino nervously smoothed his tie. "You've heard about the murders happening in sector three, correct?"

"Yup."

"And how we think this person might be ex-Soldier?"

"Yup."

"We've been gathering people who have knowledge on how to fight a person such as this." Domino gesticulated towards him. "I'm certain that Reeve asked you if you would help, but I thought I might see you personally. Would you be willing to help us catch this killer?"

Barret sucked air between his teeth, then sighed briefly. "Nope."

"May I ask why?"

He suddenly turned and scowled at the mayor. "Why the hell do you think? You think I ain't got enough trouble here, huh?" He pointed to the sector with his gun arm, the metal glinting in the sun. "It's gonna take a long time to fix this up, an' now you want me to leave? Forget it!"

"But this man has already killed twelve people!"

"So what! That many people are dyin' each day 'cause they ain't got food or homes. Somebody's gotta help _them_!"

"This is more important than that."

Barret nearly collided with the mayor as he stepped close and roared at him. "More important?! What the fuck are you on? You even know what's going on out here? You want me t' just leave these people on their own?"

"We have evidence as to his pattern and his territory. All we need is the manpower to bring him in!"

"Look, I'm gonna be honest here. I don't give a shit. All I want t' do is rebuild an' help people do the same. If you need manpower, get some of those Shin-Ra fuckers t' do it. I'm sure a man like you still has influence with them."

Domino frowned, tried of patience. "I wouldn't dare seek out Shin-Ra affiliates after what they've done."

"Except yourself, right? 'Cause you were just some poor flunky who had to follow orders, right?"

"My involvement with Shin-Ra isn't the point here! I'm trying to undo the damage that madman did to my city, and this serial killer is only making it worse! I need people like you to help me accomplish that!"

"You're fuckin' crazy, Domino."

"No, I'm trying my hardest to unite this city so we can purge it of undesirables and make it livable again!"

"Well, good luck on that."

Barret turned to leave, and Domino stepped forward to plead his case. "Mister Wallace, I need your help!"

"We all need it," the burly man scoffed, walking away from the mayor and past the gate.

"I thought you were a leader, Barret! I thought you of anyone would understand why we need to work together to stop evil like this!"

"I've had enough of leadin'," he answered loudly. "Was never good at it, anyway."

Domino let the words die on his mouth as he saw that the man's pace wasn't slowing at all, and that following him didn't look like it would help matters. He had been so hopeful that the one time leader of Avalanche would be willing to help, especially since he knew these slums better than most people did. It would have even meant having others along with him! But all that was lost to his irrational, stubborn defiance. The mayor let his scowl harden as Barret rounded a curve in the gate and disappeared into the sector.

"Well played," Hart commented.

"Be quiet," Domino snapped, immediately taking out his phone and speed dialing his office. It rang twice before his secretary picked up.

"Mayor's office."

"It's me, Estrella."

"Mister Domino?"

"Yes. Get the directory and start looking for other candidates. I'm on my way back."

"How did-" Her voice was cut short as he closed his phone and began stalking back towards his electric powered towncar and driver. It was going to be a long and arduous task to bring this madness to an end.

* * *

 _ **Somewhere in Sector Three**_

The body was floppish and refused to keep itself arranged neatly on his shoulder. He counted it yet another nuisance of being so long legged and skinny.

Still, the benefits to such an attribute was worth the negative; the cat and mouse games were all the more enjoyable when the rodent was just as quick and agile as he. The pursuits lasted for hours through the maze of homes and rubble, across rooftops and along drainage pipes. He had to admit that the youth was a challenge despite no signs of formal training. The streets alone were enough to tone the slummers with endurance and wiry strength, and this one was iconic of that trait. It was a shame he simply couldn't endure enough. This kind of determination was something the soft plate-dwellers could never achieve on their own. Natural selection was slowly pruning the city of undesirables so that only the worthy could survive. It was becoming a sort of eden for him.

He stopped at the end of the alley, hiding in the shadow while peeking out into the empty street. The morning hour meant few people were awake and outside. He considered waiting until nightfall to dodge the risk of being seen, but that would mean a full trip here and back plus a day wasted in hiding. He looked again, stood still while his eyes inspected homes and structures for movement or life. No sound of motion, no trace of light. The odds were set, worsening with every second passing. He stepped out of the alley and walked several steps from the entrance, flipped the youth off his back and set him carefully against the wall, ensuring he would not slip. He checked the hand again to ensure his mark was not smudged and noted it was satisfactory. He stood, and at that moment a uniformed policeman walked out of a doorway and looked at him.

Despite years of training and an instinct to keep oneself hidden from identification, there was a moment when he and the officer stared at one another and didn't move. The brain took a logical step, asking itself if this was truly occurring, and found no reason to consider otherwise. The following logical thought was a warning screaming at him to move damn it and get the hell out of sight! He bolted, and the policeman pursued.

He tore down the alley for the intersection, knowing a ladder was to the right that would grant him the roofs and a speedier escape.

"Stop!" the officer cried.

The killer paid him no attention, only focusing on the flight. The intersection was only a dozen meters away. The sound of the pursuing footsteps slowed, and a gunshot rang out loudly through the wood and brick alley. Pain erupted from his shoulder, not enough to incapacitate, but a nuisance and hindrance to his rhythm. He reached out and grabbed the corner of the home, using it to pull him around the corner and out of line of sight. The ladder was there, and he took to the rungs and climbed with haste. He flung himself over the edge and landed on the roof, resting on his back and listening hard for the sound of the officer chasing him. Scuffles echoed up from below, started and stopping as if the man was pacing. The steps started, then the ladder winced from someone climbing up. The killer rolled over onto his stomach, spreading his legs out and forcing his feet to grip as strong as they could to the surface. One hand lay ready to help push, the other coiled in anticipation. He waited as the ladder wobbled, getting louder. If the cop was so intent to find him, he would grant him that pleasure.

The officer's head and gun hand rose up, and the killer struck with a ferocious right hook to the jaw. The blow stunned the man long enough for him to scramble forward, left hand grabbing a wrist and eliminating the gun, the other darting out in another strike. The officer was in a hopeless situation, but kept climbing so he wouldn't risk a fall. The killer got on his knees, grabbed the officer's shirt collar, then stood and yanked him upright and continued into a bodyslam on the uneven rooftop. He applied crushing force to the man's wrist until the gun slid out of his fingers. He took the weapon and threw it down to the alley, then stood and waited for the officer to recover. The policeman scooted back, eyes focused despite a bloody nose, and his hand darted down to his ankle. The killer pounced, grabbing the tiny revolver and wrestled for control of the weapon. They stood and shuffled, grunting with effort, hands prying at one another in desperation. The killer suddenly pulled back, spun on his heel, then threw the officer off the home and to the alley fifteen feet below. A muffled crack sounded, and the killer knew it was over. He leaned over the edge to look, then dropped down easily. The officer lay on his back, left leg twisted in a way it wasn't meant to move.

"This is officer Piper!" the man gasped. "The serial killer is-"

The killer sprinted forward and delivered a brutal kick to the man's jaw, splitting his lips before he could say anything more. He then stomped on the man's right hand, splintering the case of his radio. He did it several times more, enjoying the sound of bone snapping and plastic cracking, all of it intermingled with yelps from the officer. Done, he stooped and picked the officer up by the bulk of his shirt. He looked into the man's eyes, daring him to even try and keep up his resistence. The officer could barely keep his eyes looking at one spot, his tongue inspecting the harm befallen his face. Beneath the pain, the killer felt the officer's anger roiling inside. He almost felt pity that such fierceness was hampered by weak flesh. Perhaps there was more to him? A little more to discover?

He smiled, revealing his teeth in a predatory fashion. "You'll do."

* * *

 _ **Delikatessen, Sector Three**_

The morning regulars were used to the high number of police that arrived throughout the hours the café was open, but hesitated when glancing at a table occupied mainly with suits and grave expressions. The only one not dressed for business bore a stare and observant eye that was just as foreboding. The waitress who served them gained the unspoken sympathy of a great many customers as she took down nervous requests for breakfast and coffee.

"So," Reeve began. "Have we made any progress?"

"Not really," Elena replied. "Rude and I have been researching the notes you gave us, but they aren't very useful. So far the only pattern we've got is that each of his victim's are physically fit. Not sculpted or anything, but healthy."

"That's something."

Atma shifted in her seat. "Two people can confirm the identity of the seventh victim. She was a television actor turned prostitute by Meteor named Marle. She held no one location for her use, but moved with the demand."

"Good." Reeve pulled out some crisp papers from a folder and set them on the table. "I managed to convince Domino to convince Varik to give me the full reports on the earlier victims. These are the first five."

Both Atma and Elena reached out for them, hands nearly touching one another. The Turk looked at the Soldier, met her eyes a moment, then retreated. Atma took up the first two documents, leaving Elena the other three. As they began scanning the notes, Rude turned his head to look at Reeve.

"What of Domino's decision?"

Reeve shook his head. "No chance. Yet."

"Yet?"

"I'm thinking ahead. Once we catch this killer, Domino will have to admit that he was wrong about the Turks, that they have a place here. Maybe that will help convince him to bring you on."

"As what?"

"Probably what you are now, an elite group to hunt extremely dangerous criminals. A far cry from what you used to do, but it's something. I suspect that...excuse me." Reeve reached into his coat pocket and took out his vibrating phone, flipping it open. "Yes?"

The voice on the other end was loud, and Reeve's eyes widened at something he said. "When?" His free hand began reaching for his pocket, grabbing his wallet. "I'm at Delikatessen with the others, we'll need a lift. Okay. Okay, see ya!" He snapped the phone closed and shoved it into his coat, then hurriedly drew out several bills for their unprepared meal.

"What is it?" Elena asked.

"The serial killer. An officer radioed in, but his connection was lost. Varik thinks he's being attacked."

The others didn't waste time with needless questions and instead began gathering their things. They slid out of the booth and hurried to the street, keeping an eye out for any of the police trucks that were sure to be rolling out of the precinct. It took a minute, but two of the monstrous vehicles pulled out from behind the building, rolling towards them and stopping with a squeal of worn brakes. The rear door of the lead opened and a harried looking Varik leaned out, gesturing for them to hurry. Reeve led the way, climbing up and sitting in the parachute chairs bolted to the sides. Other officers dressed in riot equipment inspected their gear as the truck lurched forward to the scene of the incident.

"So who's all this?" Varik asked.

Reeve grinned, motioning to the others who sat on the same side as him. "Atma you know. The others are Elena and Rude, former Turks."

As he expected, Varik's face turned a shade of red. "T-Turks?! First a Soldier, and now _Turks_?!"

Reeve nodded. "Yep."

The chief of police struggled with himself, hands clenched. He pounded the side of the truck in frustration. "Goddamn it, Reeve, you're setting them up to take over again!"

"Face it, Varik, a lot of them are going to be part of the new Midgar eventually. After what happened, I doubt any of them would ever try to go that route again."

"You really believe that, don't you?"

"Yes."

Varik sat there for several seconds before he shook his head. "I give up. I can't do it. I can't understand how you can just ignore everything they've done to us. I can't understand why you would let them have another chance to screw us over."

"Hey," Elena spoke up, leaning forward to look directly at the chief. "we're not all like that."

"Oh yes you are," Varik retorted.

"Don't you dare talk like you know me."

"Oh, I know your type. I understand your motivations. You'll just wait for a weakness and-"

"Understand this!" she snarled, cutting him off. "We want to rebuild our lives just as much as you do! I'm going to do everything I can to make Midgar great again. We all are. If you're going to fight us the whole way, then leave and let us work in peace."

"Like hell I will! Midgar needs people like me to control you bastards so it doesn't end up back where it was. You're the worst kind of monsters, and I'm not giving you an inch more than you deserve."

"Elena-"

"Shut up, Reeve," she snapped, leveling her glare straight at Varik's eyes. "We've all done terrible things in our lives, but that doesn't mean we can't change, or should be denied a chance to prove we can! You just watch us, Varik, watch and see. We'll work just as hard as the next guy to earn our keep, and to start, we'll find and capture this murderer. Something your whole department can't do."

"Good luck with that you-"

"Okay!" Reeve barked, looking at his comrades and the officer. "Quit it! Working together is more important than bickering about the past."

"Those who forget the past..." Varik quoted.

"And I haven't, Varik, so don't infer that I have. How much farther is it?"

Varik stood and leaned forward to peer out the passenger window. "Almost there."

"Good."

He sat back down, drawing out a large, polished revolver. He nudged the cylinder out to see all six bullets, then homed it back into his shoulder holster. "Check your weapons and your partner's weapons," he ordered. "We'll have to double-time it if we want to bag this shithead. Remember to disable him, I want him alive if possible. Understood?"

"Yessir!" the officers chimed together.

Varik began talking for the benefit of the others. "Officer Piper was checking a disturbance in one of the old apartments, but it was a false call. We think he found the killer and tried to arrest him. We don't know anything else, so be careful. Are you armed?"

Atma nodded and Elena opened her jacket to reveal a holster on her side.

"I haven't used a gun in a while," Reeve admitted. He wished he had the sense to keep the equipment he needed to command the toysaurus Cait Sith, but he relinquished the cat and controls to the city for safe keeping. The meager practice he had at a firing range wouldn't suffice in this scenario.

"What about you?" the chief asked of Rude.

"I don't use guns," he replied flatly.

Varik shook his head. "Crazy fuckers..."

"He's fine," Elena insisted. "No one wants to mess with a Turk hand to hand."

"Well, I hope the killer is willing to oblige him, then." He looked to the driver. "ETA?"

"One more block. Another patrol radioed in and found a body. They found a service revolver down an alley. No sign of Piper."

"Shit." Varik pounded his boot on the floor of the truck. "You guys ready?"

"Yeah!" the officers replied.

"Gonna give it your all?"

"Hell yeah!" they replied.

"Gonna let that son of a bitch know what we're made of?"

"Fuck yeah!"

"Alright!" Varik shouted. The truck lurched to a stop, and the chief nearly flew down the tiny aisle and slammed his fist on the open trigger, the door whipping out. "Let's get to it! Move move move!"

The officers roared and leapt out of the truck, immediately checking their perimeter and securing their position. They were all armed with lightweight, semi-automatic rifles that were typical of Shin-Ra grunts. By the time Varik and the others got out, they were already spreading out to cover alleys. The police from the patrol joined them, having donned bullet-proof vests in place of body armor, handguns at the ready. They motioned to the direction the killer took down.

"Okay!" Varik barked, clearly in his role. "Everyone down that alley! Three men down each split and one for the next! Radio man, start networking! I want a five block perimeter up in three minutes past this spot! Have all volunteer units on standby for quick shifts! Get lockdown...no, scratch that, get word to the mayor!" He looked at Reeve and his collaborators, hesitating only a moment in his orders. "Reeve, help man the comm. You three on me!"

The chief turned and jogged towards the alley, Elena and Rude following closely while Atma lingered a stride behind. Reeve went to the second truck that followed them, stepping into the back where a bulky radio console sat against the driver and passenger seats. The man sitting there glanced back, then held out a headset and motioned to a second spot next to him.

"What do I do?" Reeve asked.

"Take down locations, intersections, and write 'em out. Gotta cover their positions the old fashioned way," the radio man instructed.

Reeve nodded his understanding, then put on the headset and began to wait.

* * *

Elena tried to get her body to loosen up, to resist getting tense from the pursuit. She knew that her body wouldn't be able to react fast enough if she didn't. Rude looked impervious to the chase, and the police chief and the ex-Soldier both looked fine. The route they chose was simple: keep running in the same direction while taking the closest if not the same alley or street. It was simple logic since the other police were covering the left and right. If they had luck on their side, they could establish a perimeter around the place where the killer might be and could squeeze him out. Firstly, they had to make sure the killer didn't run straight through the blocks to get as far away from the scene as he could.

The seconds passed by slowly, each one noted by a sharp glance and deep breath. After several blocks they didn't slow down, and Varik seemed single minded to continue running like the crow flies through the broken streets. By the time that Elena wondered if they had lost the killer, the chief skidded to a stop. She nearly collided with him, but saw his arm dart up with his magnum aimed at something ahead. She drew her firearm and held it at the ready, trying to see who the officer was intimidating.

"Stand up!" Varik ordered. "Hands where I can see them!"

The person, a man now that Elena saw him, didn't move except to crane his head at the visitors to his napping spot. She immediately noted the brighter than normal irises sitting in the shadow like a cheshire cat. A Soldier without question. He almost looked a natural part of the ruin, clothes filthy and his skin covered in smudges and dirt. His gaze, though, lent itself a predatory feeling.

"Get up!" the chief barked again, taking a step forward. "Get your hands up! Move!"

The Soldier suddenly leapt from his place like a spring, and Varik only managed a single curse before limbs and hands tangled in his own and dragged him down to the earth. Elena stood back, hesitated for a second as she debated keeping her gun trained on him or to stoop and try to wrest them apart. Without such restraint, Rude grabbed the Soldier roughly by his shoulder with both hands, pulling and kicking his feet into the dirt for traction. It took several seconds, but Soldier and officer were separated, and Rude used the momentum to throw the rogue down the alley on uneasy feet. A series of loud gunshots rang out in even intervals, each bullet making the man jolt and twist.

" _Hold your fire!_ " Varik screamed.

Atma didn't listen to his order, only focused on the target. He fell onto the ground after the fourth round, at which she ceased and lowered her firearm. The chief stood and looked at her, eyes wide in anger. The gun hand rose a little as if it were necessary.

"I said to hold your goddamn fire!" he yelled at her. "I wanted him alive!"

"He isn't dead," she replied.

Varik choked on his retort, head snapping back to look at where the rogue lay. Sure enough, the man was wiggling on the ground and trying to lean up on his elbows. Four distinct red splotches were staining his shirt, all centralized on his ribcage and sternum. The chief took only a moment's grace to silently complement the woman's grouping, spending the rest in mute surprise. He took out his radio and held it in for a frequency wide alert buzz, then brought it to his mouth. "All units, code eighty one. We are eight blocks from base, straight line, over."

The radio hissed with static. "Copy that. Code twenty, over."

"Copy." Varik put his radio back onto his belt. He then lifted his revolver again and kept his distance from the wounded rogue. "Now you gonna listen?"

"Screw you, mister," the Soldier snarled, seemingly winded from being shot and nothing more. "Why you shootin' at me? What'd I do, fuck your mother?"

"Better think twice before talking shit, tough guy." He faltered in his anger when Rude stepped next to him, lifting a hand to ward off his outburst. "What?"

"I'll restrain him," Rude spoke.

"Now hold on...!"

"Big shot, eh?" the Soldier chuckled, getting to his feet despite his wounds. "Let's get it on, then!"

Rude approached, hands at his sides and suit still immaculate, looking all the executive rather than trained killer. The rogue did the same, but shifted his balance from foot to foot in irregular patterns. Without any obvious prelude he charged ahead, hands already up to strike or grapple. Rude, having watched the man's arms, saw the motion a second before it occurred and adjusted his stance to prepare his response. As if choreographed, the Turk grabbed the Soldier's hand as he tried to sucker punch his jaw, spun on his heels, and threw the offender face first into the dirt. With a violent twist, he locked the arm in place and elicited a growl of pain from the suspect. With a foot firmly planted on the man's shoulders, Rude stooped and grabbed at his other wrist and pulled it back so that Varik could approach and snap handcuffs onto him. Once they clicked shut, the Soldier seemed to lose all his anger and lay limp on the dirt. Elena and Atma kept their guns trained on the man the entire time.

Varik looked up at Rude, grinning a moment. "Not bad."

Rude didn't respond, stepping back to the sideline.

"What was the radio call?" Elena asked.

"Prisoner truck. He'll be here in a minute." He looked down at the wounded Soldier, prodding him with his boot. "You going to last that long?"

"I'm gonna kill your family and make you watch, you prick!"

Varik snorted a chuckle. "Sure..."

"You think this is the guy?" Elena asked.

"I don't know, but he's Soldier, so he's guilty of something. Maybe he even knows where the psycho is hiding out." The chief kicked the Soldier roughly to get his attention. "You heard. Any of your buddies gone off the deep end lately? Started killing people and writing numbers on them? You the one doing it?"

The man rolled his head to glare up at the officer. "I'm innocent of whatever you're accusin' me about, pig."

"Then who's been doing all the killing?"

"How the hell would I know?"

"You're fucking _Soldier_ , dickhead."

"Oh yeah, perfect excuse." He spat on Varik's shoe. "Get bent. I'm just tryin' to survive out here. Hell, half these people are losin' their heads as is! You think I'm keeping track of 'em all?"

"What I think is that you rejects stick together. Got any friends here?"

"They all died with Meteor. Been wanderin' since."

"Tragic." The sound of an engine came from the street they passed, gaining in strength. Varik chuckled and grinned. "Last chance, guy."

"Or what?"

"Or you don't get on my good side and I turn an eye if you happen to have a fall or three."

The Soldier grinned, revealing dirty teeth. "Sounds like fun, chief."

Varik's grin was equally malicious. "Oh, it will be."


	5. Chapter Five

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

 **: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _I find that this city seems to be lacking something._

 _Strength it has, borrowed from so many cities and volunteers. Money is short, but that is a constant for any governing body, and it isn't as though the people refuse to rebuild their homes because of that. Material is more than plentiful, scrapped from the ruins of the plates and cobbled together by the best and brightest of the city's engineers. Is it tools, or talent, or protection from those who would abuse them? Is it the ghost of Shinra out to ruin us? The murderer in sector three?_

 _No. I know what it is. Silly that I didn't realize it until now._

 _They all lack hope._

 _\- Domino_

* * *

 _ **Oberon's Folly, Sector Four**_

Reno hesitated a moment before tipping the shot glass back, but regretted nothing as the iced vodka rolled across his tongue and left a trail of cool down his throat and warmth in his belly. He set the cup by the others, then lolled his head side to side and wondered why the overt feeling of gravity was so nice all of a sudden. He stopped, stared at the bar for a moment, then looked up at the rack of drinks and wondered what else to try. So far he had tried the imported Shirido, rum from Costa del Sol, and three types of whiskey from rival brewers in Gongaga. The vodka was from Rocket Town of all places. It was the best of them all so far, never mind that they all tasted better than the last since the sake. Reno chuckled at the dim realization, then found himself rapidly unconcerned with it. He called the barkeep and bought the vodka, prepared to nurse that for the night, when she sat down next to him.

She, dressed provocatively in fitting pants and shirt, denim jacket open like an invitation, rested her elbows on the counter and waited patiently for the keep to notice her arrival. Her eyes remained focused ahead, never breaking to notice how Reno stared at her in silent concentration. When the keep did step up, she ordered a scotch in a husky tone. Served, she brought the cup to her lips and drank it down like water. As soon as the glass hit the countertop, Reno slid the bottle her way to get her attention. When she finally did look at him, burgundy eyes guarded and sober, it struck him why she was familiar. He grinned, playing it up. "Yo."

Her expression didn't shift, but her brows furrowed in recognition. "Reno?"

"S'me alright," he answered. He tapped the bottle again. "Wanna bit?"

"Why?"

"Why not? Drink's a drink."

She shrugged after a few seconds. "Sure."

He carefully lifted the bottle and poured, resting the nose on her glass so it didn't spill. A second measure went to his cup, and they shared a silent toast and knocked them back in one gulp. Reno felt a murmur tickle his throat, appreciative of the punch the liquor packed. His eyes wandered back over to her, admiring what curves he could see, wondering how long it took to grow hair so long and keep it that pretty. He could see why Rude liked her.

"So why're you here?" he asked her.

"Just taking a break. It's been a long day." She looked back his way. "Why are _you_ here?"

"Drinkin', mostly. Dunno what else t' do."

"Haven't you crawled back into Domino's good graces yet? Or did you grow a conscience?"

"Fuck that Domino!" Reno swore. "Fuck him. Thinks I wanna go back an' risk my hide like that again? Screw that, I wanna relax, do somethin' that doesn't mean I could get killed, y'know?" He knew he was rambling, but didn't care enough to stop. "I mean, you live on the edge so long you start gettin' used to it. Then one day you figure out that livin' like that's no way to live an' you wanna step back and take it safe. You only got one life, so you gotta make the most of it. Gettin' killed on the job ain't no way to go." He reached for the bottle and had a shot, soothing his tongue. "You get it, right?"

"Yeah."

"No good reason t' live like that. Gotta take it easier, spend some time not havin' to wonder if today is your last day. Gotta stick with your family an' friends, right?"

She nodded. "Right..."

"Speakin' of, where's the rest of 'ya?"

Her eyes dimmed, and she sighed with a frown. Reno assumed the worst. "They dead?"

"No!" she barked a little too loudly. "No they're not, they're just...taking care of their own business."

"Oh."

"What about _your_ friends?" she asked.

"They're still kickin', but...fuck it, she's gone an' lost her god-damned mind."

"Who?"

"'Lena. Went right back to bein' a Turk for Domino. Girlie's gonna get herself killed, I swear."

"Why?"

"The hell you mean 'why'? That psycho serial killer! She's supposed t' kill the guy, some Soldier badass in sector three."

"And you aren't going to help her?"

He grimaced at the idea. "Hell no! I'm tired of riskin' my life for others. I just wanna take it easy an' enjoy myself. Somethin' could show up and kill us like that, you know, an' I don't wanna leave with regrets."

"Then why don't you convince her to stop?"

"She wouldn't listen even if I tried."

"So you just gave up?" she shook her head. "Some friend."

Reno sat upright, upset. "Hey, I care about her."

"Doesn't seem like it to me."

"The fuck you know?"

"Lots." She looked back at him with those familiar hard eyes. "Look, if you really care about your friends, then help them, don't just ignore the problem. Sulking won't change anything."

"Quit preachin'."

"I'm just telling the truth." She stood and took out a few coins, dropped them by Reno's bottle. "Drinks on me."

"Hold on!" Reno asked, halting her before she stepped away. He looked at her face for several moments, trying to force out the question he wanted to ask. "Did...did you guys really kill him?"

She hesitated before answering, but nodded.

Reno grinned lopsided, shaking his head. "God-damn. You're really somethin' else."

A grin in return and she turned to leave. "Don't forget what I said."

"Yeah, yeah..." He turned back to his bottle, staring at the money she tossed at him. It was more than enough for their tabs together. He wondered where her sense of charity came from, especially since they only knew one another when facing off in a fight. She was tough and pretty, not some vapid airhead, and apparently forgiving of her enemies. Probably another reason why Rude fancied her. Hell, with those tits and ass Reno wasn't about to say no either! Not that he stood a chance, of course, but he could dream.

He poured another shot, finished it, and mulled on her words. They were hard to accept.

* * *

 _ **Sector Police Headquarters, Interrogation Room**_

Handcuffed and chained to the floor, the Soldier still managed to look threatening. He had wrestled and fought and spat and screamed as he was taken away from the alley into custody. It took a man on each limb to get him from the truck to the room. The threat of guns didn't phase him, nor did countless taser shocks. By the time that he had calmed down and was quiet, he gathered an expression of smug arrogance. Varik, standing behind the single way mirror, observed the man as he returned the gaze with a silent strength. It had been hours since they dragged him into the room and interrogated him with every expert at their disposal, yet they had nothing to show for it. Now they were coming to the end of their rope.

"How long will you keep this up?" Reeve asked.

"As long as he wants," Varik replied.

"Aren't you going to continue?"

"A lesson about interrogation, Reeve. Let the guy sweat it out in silence as much as you hammer it in. The more you fuck with him, the more likely somethin' will slip."

"But this isn't an ordinary man."

"True. Maybe I should wait longer and starve him a little."

Reeve's expression fell. "You're kidding."

"Maybe." Varik wondered how long a Soldier could go without food or water. Maybe he ought to take his comment literally. This time he wouldn't need to worry himself about laws and the humane treatment of criminals. As far as Domino was concerned, any Soldiers that didn't surrender or offer to help could be considered a war-criminal. There wouldn't be a man alive who would try to defend the rights of a lunatic Soldier, not that they even deserved them. But they didn't have all the time in the world.

"Varik-"

"I won't," he said, "at least not right away."

"You can't do that!"

"Says who?"

"The law! Common decency! What kind of people are we if we torture people for information?"

"I'll make an exception this time." He looked back to the architect, eyeing him and his companions. "The killer has one of my men, Reeve, and if this fucker knows who he is, then I'll do whatever it takes to get it out of him. If the killer follows his pattern, then we have somewhere between twenty four and forty eight hours until he's dead. We've spent seven hours on him already, so it's even less now. I won't have that on my shoulders."

"No one would blame you."

" _I_ would blame me. Now are you gonna help or just complain?"

Silence, and Varik smirked a little. At least this Shin-Ra suit knew when to be quiet. He looked back into the room, and the Soldier was still staring at the mirror intently. It was unnerving. Then again, all the other Soldiers he had arrested and charged were just the same, inhumanly patient and insulting. This one would be a challenge to break, but break he would after he worked him over long enough. No one could resist interrogation for long, no one.

"Is this-"

"You'll never find him." The Soldier's laugh was distorted through the tinny speaker set beneath the mirror, more inhuman and cruel. "Not in a million years."

Varik nearly trampled the others as he stormed the door to the interrogation room and thundered inside like a demon out of hell. He slammed his palms on the metal table that separated detective from suspect and glared, ushering all his anger into his expression. The Soldier didn't looked impressed.

"You know who the son of a bitch is, _don't you_?!"

"I do," he said with a smile.

"Where the hell is he? Where?!"

"What's in it for me?"

"Your life, maybe."

The Soldier snorted in humor. "I want out."

"You're rotting in hell regardless, shit for brains, so it doesn't matter what you want."

"Then I've got no reason to talk. You gotta give a man some reason to cooperate, else it gets you nowhere fast." He grinned widely. "It's a give an' take world, chief, so what'cha gonna give me, eh?"

Varik tore his revolver from his jacket holster and aimed it right at the Soldier's face, both hands gripping the weapon. "Tell me or it's game over."

The suspect laughed and scooted forward the best he could. "Ooh, you're plucking at straws already! Go ahead then, shoot me. Shoot me right between the eyes. You're the boss now, so who's gonna stop you, eh? Go on, do it." He suddenly exploded from his chair, straining at the cuffs and shaking like a mad animal. His eyes looked like they were going to jump out of his face. " _Come on_! Shoot me, you motherfucker! Get it over with! Show us who's right and who's wrong!"

A gunshot rang out in the small room like a hammer on metal, deafening Varik a moment and leaving a ringing in his ears. The Soldier immediately sat back down, frozen still. A dribble of scarlet began to run from his right ear, the lobe nicked and burnt from the bullet's passage. A crack in the brick wall and the mashed lead slug rested behind him, still hot on the floor. The silence afterwards was deafening, and the moment lasted for seconds as the witnesses rose from the shock of what Varik just did. The Soldier smiled, and he suddenly burst into laughter. The door opened, Reeve took his hands and lowered them, and Varik stood shocked at the insane actions of the suspect he just fired on.

The gun was taken from his hands, and Reeve was by his side. "Varik, you okay?"

"You fucking coward!" the Soldier barked between guffaws. "Can't even back up his own threats! What a failure!"

Varik tensed in anger, but he was being led away to the dim hallway at the rear of the precinct. Faces looked at him in muted surprise at his action. Was it really that unexpected?

"Varik," Reeve kept repeating. "What in god's name were you thinking?"

Sense returned, and Varik felt reality rush his veins like cold water. Threats and promises and none of them phased the madman! Why were his officers and these people from the mayor staring at him like he'd just gone off the deep end? Maybe he was getting overly stressed about the hunt. But no, there was no reason to restrain himself when one of his men was in danger. Any measure had to be used! Didn't they get that?

"Varik?"

"Shut up, Reeve," he finally spoke.

"But-"

"I said to shut up!" he snapped. A glance at the people around him told all he needed to know. "We'll let him rot six hours. No one's to go in there unless I say so."

The architect seemed stunned by that call. "You can't do that!"

"Reeve, I've heard enough of your crap!" he roared, facing the man with the furies racing in his nerves. "This is _my_ command, and it's _my_ prerogative as to how we interrogate a suspect. These Soldiers don't have the rights that normal people enjoy, so I can do whatever I like to him! If it takes torture to make him talk, then you'd better believe I'll be the first in line! Now take your people and _get out_."

It took several seconds for the words to settle, and Varik felt relief when the suit ushered his lunatic companions away and out of his department. He retrieved his firearm and holstered it, then went back to watching the Soldier through the mirror. He was sitting there and chuckling, the blood dribbling onto his shoulder, not bothered at all with the injury.

This was going to be a challenge.

* * *

Elena sighed in exasperation once the door to the station closed. "Dammit! And he's supposed to be the new chief of police?"

Reeve nodded weakly. "I know."

"The guy's a lunatic! He shot that Soldier in his own precinct! He might have killed him if you didn't step in."

"I know!" He reiterated. "He's the highest ranking officer in the division, so by all rights the position is his. Getting him out is just another item on an already long list of needs. We'll just have to bear with it until then."

"Business as usual, huh," she muttered in defeat.

"Yeah."

"So what can we do now?"

Reeve grumbled. "I don't think that we can rely on the sector police any longer. It seems like we take two steps back for every step forward we make. That Soldier isn't our man and Varik knows it. He just wants to punish him for his crimes and move on to the next one."

The group remained silent a moment, standing in the moderate rush of the early evening bustle. None of them wanted to admit to this breach of procedure. The police were supposed to be the arm of the law, the avatar of order against chaos! To see the chief of police shoot a suspect, one that wasn't even accused of any crime, in their own precinct? None of them missed the implication that this rule of law was no more proper than that of Shin-Ra's. How they could operate around it, though, was a question they didn't have an answer for. Like so many other concerns.

"So what are you thinking?" she asked "If the sector police are useless, then what's left?"

"We do it on our own," Reeve answered.

"How?"

"Did any other Turks survive Meteor?"

Elena shook her head. "We were the only active Turks then. There were others in training or attached to other departments outside Midgar, but that's it. I don't know what happened to them."

He looked at the Soldier. "Atma, have you seen any of your friends around?"

"I don't have friends," she corrected.

"I meant other members of your squad in Soldier."

"No."

"You intend to create a unit apart from the sector police?" Rude guessed.

He nodded. "Pretty much. Do you know anyone who'd fit the bill?"

Rude considered the question. "There are a few suitable people I can think of, but I don't know where they are."

Reeve shook his head in agitation. "God, it seems like everyone we know is scattered all over the city."

"Do you want us to look for them?" Elena asked.

"Well, yes." He turned to face his comrades. "Right now it's just us four, five if Reno shows up, and that isn't enough manpower to search all of sector three. We need all the help we can get, help that isn't narrow minded like Varik. Even a few more people would make it easier. So I propose we look around Midgar and try to see if any old friends are willing to go along with this. If Domino doesn't approve of them, I can give them a small paycheck to get by."

"What about you?"

"I'll retrieve Cait Sith from the city hall."

"Really?" Elena resisted the urge to chuckle. "That thing can help?"

Reeve grinned. "It might be plush and fur, but it's still a machine. It's better than nothing. Besides, I don't like sitting back and forcing you to do all the work."

"It's no problem-"

"I want to help however I can-"

"You've done a lot, Reeve, really." Elena insisted. "You don't need to worry about us. We can take care of ourselves out there."

"I know. I don't want to slow you down out there. If I control Cait, then you don't need to worry about protecting me. He's disposable, I'm not. If he runs on autonomous mode, it's even one more member of our team."

"If you want."

"I do." Reeve glanced back at the sky, seeing the sun resting close to the western horizon. "We don't have much time left if we want to save that officer, so we shouldn't waste it. Let's go."

* * *

 _ **Yukio's Apartment, Sector Two**_

"Come on, you can't keep on the defensive and expect to win a fight," Yukio scolded his sparring partner.

"I ain't trying to be bloody defensive! I'm _tryin_ ' to find a weak spot."

"That's your problem, then. You only _try_ when I _do_."

Yukio stepped forward and struck with a right hook, but Lari was quick enough to dodge back to avoid the punishing blow to her jaw. However, she didn't retaliate with a counterattack, so Yukio pressed his advantage and continued with several linear jabs at her shoulders and chest. These she tried to ward off, but could only intercept with her hands to lessen the blow. He rushed her and grabbed her shoulder, then leaned in with a left into her stomach that winded the woman. This time she did strike back, but it was an ineffective tap of the face that was limited by the placement of his arm. He shoved her back and held his position, watching Lari stumble and heave for air, a hand pressed on her bruised torso.

"You need to train harder, Lari."

"I'm doin' the best I can. It ain't my fault you won't let me use a weapon."

He shook his head. "Weapons only complement a person's natural strength. A good fighter should be lethal all on his own."

"Says you."

"Yes, says me." He sighed. "It makes me wonder how you ever qualified for second class."

At this the woman growled. "Hey, I earned my rank."

"Doesn't look like it to me." He opened his arms in a welcoming embrace, hands gesturing her forward. "Want to show me otherwise?"

Lari stood and charged. Yukio expected her to use the momentum for a punch, but she leapt at the last moment and flexed her legs tightly and kicked out like a coiled spring. Her heel struck his sternum brutally, but he grabbed her ankle regardless and dragged them both down to the floor. With a speed like a cat, he got onto his knees and leapt over her legs to pin them down with his own. His right hand grasped her neck and his left her hand, and he squeezed her windpipe to prove that he could choke the life out of her if he wanted. They stared at one another for a second more than necessary, realizing their compromising position. He stood off and offered her a hand, but she slapped it away.

"See what I mean?"

"Piss off," she spat, stomping for the stairs.

"You can't ignore this!" he called after her.

"Go to hell!" She flipped him a rude gesture as she stepped out of sight.

Yukio grumbled and followed her, steps hurried to match pace. She was heading down the hallway on the second floor to her private room. Farrah was at the end of the hall cleaning the window, ignoring them. He reached a hand out and placed it on her door as she reached for the doorknob, not trapping her but getting her attention. Her normally amused expression was twisted into anger, eyes glaring daggers at his own.

"I said-"

"Plenty. You have to master hand to hand combat, Lari, it's the basis of every known combat method in the world."

"So what."

She opened her door and stepped inside, and Yukio followed before she could close it on him. She looked appalled that he was invading her privacy, just another facet of the face she showed him. Her legs looked confused between walking into the room or to begin pushing him out. He planted his hands on his hips and held his ground, wondering if such obvious exposure would finally prompt her to make a first strike.

"Goddammit, can't you just leave it be?!" she yelled in confusion.

"No, I can't. If one person is struggling, then it affects everyone else. I need to know that I can depend on you in any situation. What would happen if you didn't have a sword and needed to fight?"

"Then I'd fight."

"How? You couldn't keep up with me upstairs. Sure, you could toss most people around, but what about other Soldiers? What then?"

"I'd still kick their asses!"

" _How_? It's obvious that without a weapon you are next to _useless_ in a fight."

"And when have I ever been without one, eh? Humor me." She sneered. "You can't. A sword master is always armed. Always."

"You aren't right now."

She snorted. "I've got my knives. Those're all I'd need."

"Prove it, then," Yukio demanded, spreading his feet slightly. "Go on. Try and beat me."

"Now?"

"When else?"

The silent moment passed, neither Soldier moving from their places in the empty room. The seconds felt thick and heavy as the two glared at one another. Lari, with a smooth movement, slid her fingers along the fabric of her pant leg and a stiletto materialized in her palm. The same hand darted out to plant the blade into Yukio's shoulder, but the man caught her wrist just centimeters shy of her goal. Her free hand, having found a dagger in the time her opponent was distracted, snaked in to pierce his thigh, but was also intercepted. Yukio didn't even give Lari the time to realize she was trapped before he ducked forward and butted his head against her left cheek. Stunned a moment, he yanked her left and then right and bodily tossed her back into her home. Compounded pain inhibited her balance and she fell on her rump, dropping the stiletto to keep herself upright. She resisted the need to feel the pain, instead glaring at her superior. Yukio merely crossed his arms again and frowned, staring back.

"Again," he ordered.

"Why are-"

" _Again_!" he snapped in a stern tone.

Ignoring the fallen blade, she drew a similar dagger from her waist and reversed the grip, then stood and adjusted her body stance to make herself as difficult as possible to attack. Her expression was serious, but her eyes betrayed too much useless anger.

"Attack me," Yukio demanded.

"No dice. You wanna fight, then you're gonna dance to my tune, bossman."

"You think so?" He chuckled darkly. "Last chance."

"Nuh-uh, Yukio, this is _my_ game."

"As you wish."

Yukio strode forward with patience, hands lifted and prepared for whatever she would try. She remained rigid is posture, one hand cocked back to thrust like an arrow, the second held forward at an angle to slash at whatever was in reach. He was about two paces away when both arms sprang to life. He was forced to duck back to avoid being laid open across his chest, and he stepped further back to avoid being stabbed in the gut. Lari changed her grip on both weapons, and approached with one hand sweeping at her superior's face. Yukio's head snapped back to avoid harm, feeling the air spin in the blade's passing. A sharp pain blossomed in his waist, and he knew that she had scored a hit. He grimaced, ignoring the pain as best he could, and concentrated completely on the fight; it no longer felt like a casual sparring match.

Lari held up her weapon prominently, displaying the blood for them to see. Yukio kept his face neutral, unwilling to grant her the sight of his feelings. She danced forward and slashed at him, arms extended to keep him distant. It would be difficult for him to close the gap between them if she continued as such, but he watched and waited with patience. As her arms whipped back and forth, trying to make him falter, he noticed a pattern in her movements. For every downward stroke made by her left arm, her right would arc up in a similar fashion if he dodged only to one side. He waited for it, and when the time came, lunged at her. His hands grabbed both wrists, applied a tight and twisting force, and two knives clattered to the wood floor. Pinned, Lari relented to one attack that was always useful: a swift kick to the groin. Yukio gasped in pain and surprise. Knees weak, he pushed himself forward and let gravity take over. The two hit the floor hard, Lari pinned fully beneath Yukio as his vision swam in agony.

"Get off me," she snarled after several seconds.

Yukio rolled over onto his back and put a hand onto his wound, seeing his palm slick with blood. He figured that it was only a minor laceration, nothing bandages wouldn't fix. He leaned up and stood gingerly, his inner thighs radiating pain like fire. He saw Lari struggle to a sitting position, breathing heavily with one hand covering her eye. She looked at him and remained wordless, winded.

"Like I said...you need to train," Yukio reiterated between breaths.

"I still cut you," Lari growled out. "I'd have cut you to ribbons if I wanted!"

"I could have choked the life...right out of you, when we fell...or several other times! You aren't invincible, Lari. You aren't at your physical peak. Not by a long shot. Denying this will only hurt you in the long run."

"There's nothing to deny. I can hold my own."

"Just like now?"

Silence. Yukio stared at Lari, but she returned his glare with one of her own. She really did think she was in the right!

"You know it's true."

"Get off my back."

"I'm not letting this go ignored any longer," he said. "You're going to learn how, no ifs ands or buts."

She snarled her words at him. "I ain't gonna train when I don't need it!"

"But you do!"

"Bullshit I do!"

They glared at one another, the tension thick between them, stubborn personalities clashing without sign of stopping. Yukio was beyond agitated at her refusal to admit her weaknesses and to take the responsibility to correct them, now he felt sincere anger rising to the surface. She was always a stubborn woman, but now it was beyond reason and entering the realm of childish futility. It had to be dealt with, here and now. He blinked sweat out of his eyes, then wiped his forehead.

"Then go," he finally spoke.

"What?"

"Go. Find somewhere else to live."

Her eyes finally widened when it was apparent he wasn't bluffing. "You can't-"

"I can and will! This is _my_ apartment, _my_ rules! If you don't want to follow them, then leave and live by your own law!" He paused, letting the words sink in. "I mean it, Lari. You either follow my rules or leave until you change your mind."

With the ultimatum drawn, he waited for her response. It was difficult to treat her like so, especially since she was proven well in combat with swords and blades. But he needed flexible warriors, and ones who didn't question his intent. There was no room to make an exception in his unit, it would only invite disaster for the future. If the line had to be drawn with her on the other side, then so be it and to hell with his personal feelings.

She stood and retrieved her fallen weapons, homing them in their pockets. She walked to a wall and picked up the sword hanging on it, securing the scabbard to her back. She slid her wallet into a pants pocket, grabbed a belt with several throwing knives, and strode past Yukio without a word said. He looked outside her window and watched as she left the apartment grounds and headed into the empty streets of the sector, fading into the shadows like a waking dream. He stood there for a minute, watching, and brooding. He only left when the pain from his wound was sharp enough that he couldn't put it aside. He looked and saw a red splotch on his shirt, the blood staining his pants as it coursed down his leg. Leaving the room, he closed the door and noted that a few of his men were standing at the end of the hall, looking at him with concern or curiosity in their faces.

"Tough time, huh."

Yukio looked the other way and saw Farrah standing nearby, arms crossed and a hand bearing a coiled length of medical wrapping. She held it out to him and he accepted it, wondering if they had made that loud a racket. "Yeah."

"She means well, you know."

"Meanings aren't enough to compensate for blind arrogance."

"You should have given her a second chance."

"I don't need this, Farrah, not from you."

She pursed her lips and huffed. "You try and give advice..."

He waved a hand, gesturing his apology. "I appreciate it, Farrah, really. This just isn't a good time."

"You gonna need help patching yourself up?"

He shook his head. "I can take care of it."

"Alright."

Yukio walked to the stairs, ignoring the looks from the thirds that gathered around. They all gawked at his cut like nervous children, silent since they wouldn't risk gossip while he was right next to them. Neither Holt or Stoke were with them, so he guessed that the two were still out on reconnaissance. It would be interesting to see their reactions when he broke the news.

He passed them in silence and went to the first floor, entering his home right next to the entrance to the apartment itself; the managers suite, if it could be called that. He closed the door and went into his bathroom, flipping the switch to bathe the tiled room in sterile white light. He stripped completely and took a small towel, wet it down, and wiped away the excess blood that stained his waist and thigh. The cut itself was shallow and a few inches in length, smooth and straight as testament to her prowess with a blade. He grit his teeth and did his best to wash it out with soap and scalding water, dried it off, then taped it closed. He took a pair of scissors and cut specific lengths of bandage, wadded them for padding, then carefully applied them and taped the lot secure. It was sloppy, but Soldiers healed fast and he wasn't about to ask for one of the thirds to use materia. Instead he opened his medicine cabinet and picked up a bright blue vial of healing potion, downing the contents in one gulp. The pain quickly began to fade, a slight numbness spreading out from his stomach. It wouldn't do much to speed up the healing process, but it would blunt the pain for a while so he could function at one hundred percent.

The door to his home opened slowly, and Yukio's eyes looked in the mirror to see who it was. Farrah's head leaned in and looked around, but ducked out when she noticed him. "Yukio."

"Yes?"

"The thirds want to know what happened." She waited a moment. "They think you kicked her out for no reason."

"Why did they ask you?"

"Obviously because they're too scared to ask _you_. They're chattering like schoolgirls upstairs."

He sighed at the mirror. "Tell them to form up. I'll be along in a few."

"Alright."

"Thank you, Farrah."

"Don't mention it."

She closed the door and left him in solitude. He leaned on his sink, feeling the full weight of his burdens press on him like the fate of the world. _'Kick me out for not bein' good enough in a scrap,'_ he heard in Lari's voice. _'and lookit you, sweatin' bullets trying to keep reign of a bunch of know-nothin' thirds. But you ain't gonna kick yourself out, are 'ya?'_

"Someone's got to lead them," he murmured to himself. "We're all flawed, but someone's got to do it."

* * *

 _ **A Deeper Green**_

The bar was sparsely occupied this night, an unusual occurance. Despite a rough start, the bar was becoming a regular spot for the laborers of the sector, bringing in conversation if not heaps of gil. Dredge was leaning on the counter and listening to two men talk about old days, a few sat and played poker in a corner table, and a husband wife pair were crying in their beer by the door. Elena and Rude walked inside surprised at the silence, but they continued to the counter and sat without comment. He stood and wandered over to take their orders.

"House tap," Elena asked.

"The same," Rude followed.

He poured their drinks and slid them over on old cardboard coasters, setting next to them. "Where's the redhead?"

Elena remained silent at his query, allowing the pause to speak for the nature of the response. The man pursed his lips. "Somethin' happen?"

"I haven't seen him in two days," Elena admitted. She looked at him with hope in her eyes. "Has he been here?"

The man nodded. "Came by just yesterday, right before closing. He was already pickled, though, so he didn't order much."

Elena actually inhaled in surprise, lent forward in interest. "Was he okay?! Did he say anything about where he was staying? Where he was going?"

Dredge shook his head. "The guy was drunk, missie, s'all I can say about how he was holdin' up. When I closed shop, he was sittin' against the wall and said he'd sleep it off there."

"And you didn't help him?!" Elena admonished.

Dredge waved a hand at the idea. "Hey, I ain't draggin' no drunk up to my pad. No way!"

"Was he there this morning?"

"Nope. Besides, I don't get here 'till noonish. He probably wandered off to some hostel or somethin' to sleep it off."

Elena struggled to retain control of her emotions, glad that Reno was still in the area but angry that the barkeep didn't do anything but liquor him up further and leave him alone in the streets. She took up her beer and had several gulps, mentally sighing at such poor luck. "Did he say anything about a job?"

"Nah. Kept saying he wanted to take it easy and live better, though." The man looked at Elena intently. "The guy sounds desperate. If you're his friend, why aren't you helpin' him out?"

"He doesn't want...no, he just wants to-"

"The guy wants help, missie, plain as day. He might not be sayin' it, but it's obvious he does."

"I've tried, but he's...just an idiot. Does whatever he wants and never accepts help from other people."

The keep nodded.

"I mean, I told him he has a home with us, but he didn't listen! It's not like I didn't try! He's just out there drinking, like nothing we say matters. Just the same stupid pig-headed Reno."

"Miss, are you an' him...?"

Elena shook her head. "No!"

The keep chuckled. "Well it sounds like it to me."

"What do you know?" she retorted hotly.

"A lot, it turns out. Bein' a bartender is half bar service, half head doctor. I've heard this story dozens a' times."

"So what does the doctor recommend?"

"Go find the guy and both of you quit lyin' about what's right in front of your faces. The more you avoid it, the worse it's gonna be, especially when it's between men and women."

"I already said it's not like that!"

"Relax, missie, I ain't accusin' you of nothing. It's just the nature of the beast. Men an' women don't see eye t' eye on certain things, so it takes lots of effort to get the message across." His head lifted as another customer entered the bar. His eyes only glanced at the newcomer, but reverted to attention on Elena. "All I mean is be honest with him. There ain't much you can do if he's gonna be a prick, but let the guy know you care about him."

"Yeah," she muttered, eyes drooping as he moved to served the new patron.

Elena took up her mug and had another few swigs of the cheap lager, thankful that it was taking the edge off her nervous jitters. The day felt like it lasted far longer than it should have, dealing with Rude's past and the Soldier that Varik nearly killed in his rage and having to find out where the entry level Turks had disappeared to. None of them answered their phones, and she had no idea where they lived or if their homes even existed now. She had no evidence that any of them were even alive. They had all been assigned to headquarters when the Weapons appeared and stayed to help evacuate when Meteor showed up. None of them arrived when Domino put out the general announcement for all Shin-Ra employees to aid in rebuilding a governing body. Perhaps they had the foresight to know that he would turn them away once he learned of their position. Maybe they just left for other cities to start over.

But now she found herself more worried about Reno than anything else. What had possessed him to completely ignore her hospitality and run off? What could there be in the broken streets that attracted him more than the presence of his friends? Elena sighed, unable to find an answer. All she knew is that whatever happened to him after Meteor must have been responsible. He would never turn down a challenge or abandon his comrades, not under any circumstances. But now? She didn't know, and that made her afraid. Of what, she couldn't say, but the nervous butterflies in her stomach hadn't settled since that morning.

"We should go," Rude insisted, done with his beer.

"Alright." Elena chugged the remainders of hers, then left the bill and tip on the counter. They stood and walked out of the bar, looking up and down the street in the near twilight of the sunset. The bar was the most logical place for them to start at since Reno claimed it as his haunt, but it was just another disappointment. They began walking towards their apartment for a lack of any other destination. She looked at Rude, wondering what was going on beneath those sunglasses. Was he just as worried? "Rude, what else can we do?"

He shook his head absently. "I don't know."

"We've checked everywhere we can think of. Wherever Reno is, it isn't someplace obvious. It's not like he's that familiar with the slums anyway, so where could he be?" She let her tongue keep rambling. "Logically, where would he go around here? Does he just sleep in the streets? Do you think he might be at a motel? Dredge did say something about that."

"Elena, we should go home."

She looked up at him in surprise. "Go home? When Reno's out here somewhere?"

"Even if he did stay at a motel, which one? Where? It would take days to search the sector on foot, and he could be moving as well. It would be nearly as difficult as hunting the serial killer."

"So what should we do?"

"Go home. It's been a long day, and we need sleep."

"I'm not tired. I could stay out late and look for him."

"Elena-"

"I can take care of myself! I only need a few hours sleep, caffeine can get me through tomorrow-"

"Stop it, Elena."

She grimaced, then chuckled quietly. "I'm sorry."

"I miss him too, but the odds are against us. We have to trust that he'll return when he comes to his senses."

"But will he?"

He nodded. "I know he will. He may be stubborn, but he won't leave his comrades on their own. Sometimes he just need space. He won't forget what you said."

Elena let the words settle in her head. She found it tough to believe that Rude still had such confidence in the redhead to come to terms with himself. The more she knew about Reno, the more it felt like only blunt logic and endless arguments could ever faze him or change his opinions. Maybe the men's friendship had been through such turmoil and followed the same sort of conclusions. Maybe Rude knew that no matter how angry or outraged Reno became, he could always come back. Perhaps her only choice was to share his trust in him.

"Thanks, Rude."

The rest of the trip passed in silence, the sky growing dark and sprinkled with stars that outshone the streetlamps. The moon was rising a pregnant waxing phase from the horizon to the north, nearly full. Clouds were thickening in the east, moving with sluggish effort on the tiny wind that caressed the buildings, a promise of much needed rain. The apartment that Reeve secured them were set back from any large roads, so it was considered safer than the homes built in the open and easy to reach. They passed through the gates that protected a tiny and miserable patio, then unlocked the front door and stepped inside to the warmer interior. Stairs were to the left, an elevator on the right, but their home was set all the way at the end of the ground floor. Elena had to rattle the lock, reminding herself to replace it one of these days, before it opened. Stepping inside, she pried one foot out of a shoe before the shock that someone was sprawled on a chair by their table hit her. She drew out her gun just as Rude approached the prone individual, neither of them needing to speak to coordinate their movements. Just as they reached the table the person stirred, and both Turks prepared themselves for a fight. However, arms uncurled from the person's head to reveal dirty red hair, and a familiar pair of eyes glanced up at the two from exhausted pits in the skin.

"R-Reno?" Elena sputtered, lowering her gun.

His eyes focused, and a classic grin split his face. "Yo."


	6. Chapter Six

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

 **: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _These fucking Soldiers._

 _Goddamn them to hell. They kill and rape and steal and never once think that there's anything fucking wrong with it. You lock them up and they scream and spit at you like some monster stuck in a cage, clawing for freedom they don't deserve. Sometimes I just watch them and think how much money we'd save if we just shot them as soon as they showed up. No wasted space or food, no legal bullshit to observe, and lots of quiet. But fucking Domino! 'Hold them. Determine which of them can be rehabilitated and put to use, the rest can be dealt with by the courts.' Fuck, as if any of these psychos can be unwound and taught to be nice. Domino's got screws loose to even think about using them for anything but target practice!_

 _I'll just have to assign more 'psychologists' to the unit and prove their beyond saving quicker, then I can bury them and be done with it._

 _-Varik_

* * *

 _ **Turks' Apartment**_

"Y-Yo?" Elena sputtered. "You've been gone for days and...yo?! That's all you've got to say?!"

Reno shrugged his shoulders. "Seems like it's good enough."

The blonde stood still for seconds, conflicted between emotions. When it seemed that she would speak she instead strode purposefully to Reno's side, the pistol tossed onto the table, and dragged the dirty redhead to his feet by the scruff of his collar. She inspected him with the discerning stare of a mother at her misbehaving child. His clothing was covered in scuffs and stains, loose hair hanging in lank strands. It looked like he was on the tail end of a week long bender, which might not have been an exaggeration. "God, you look terrible." She then wrapped her arms around him and knelt her head by his, squeezing him tightly.

"What's all this for?" he slurred, arms loose by his side.

"Because I want to kill you for running away like that, but you already look like shit, so it wouldn't matter."

Reno chuckled. "Well, if you throw yourself on anyone who leaves for a couple'a days, I oughta do it more often."

Elena immediately removed herself from his person and glared. "You miserable bastard!"

"I call it like I see it," he jested.

She growled in frustration, throwing her hands up. She walked back to the door to take off her other shoe. "Forget it. You probably don't even care that we've been worried about you."

"What, think I can't take care of myself?"

"That's obvious."

"I'm doin' fine, girlie. Just a little drunk, but hey, no big deal."

"Don't call me that."

"Why? You still think I'm makin' fun of you?" A silent pause. "Well I ain't. It's called a 'term of affection'. Now if I called you blondie, then I _am_ making fun of you."

She looked back with a snarl. "Reno!"

"Easy, easy! I didn't mean it that time, I'm just makin' a point." He laughed throatily. "You freak out every time I call you that."

Elena shook her head. "Well, at least you're still the same."

"Girlie, I was only gone two fuckin' days. It ain't like you haven't seen me in years, so why you puttin' up all this fuss?"

She frowned. "Because you were missing for three whole months, and when we finally find you, you run off less than a day later! What was I supposed to think?"

He shrugged again, and Elena sighed. Having put her things by the rack close to the door, she walked to the kitchen and rummaged through the fridge for something to drink. Rude, having been silent, sat at the table and removed his sunglasses. Reno, catching the older man's expression, sat back down and folded his hands on the surface. They stared at one another as Elena sat bottled beers for them and took a seat for herself. She passed the bottle opener around and they cracked them open, taking large gulps of the black ale. The three sat in that silence for what felt like a minute, sorting themselves out.

"What is it about the job that scares you?" Rude finally asked.

"That I could end up dead 'cause of it," he said plainly. "That you or Elena could die playin' the hero for a bunch of cowards who don't give a shit about us."

"You're...scared?" Elena prodded, surprised at the blunt honesty of the statement.

"Yeah," he muttered, taking up his bottle and taking a swig. "Come on, you know what I mean. We don't _have_ to do this. We can let someone else handle it. Don't either of you want a life where you don't run the chance of getting killed every day?"

"But who else would do it?" Elena asked. "Reeve said that we're the only ones that want to help and have the talent to stand a chance at succeeding. The sector police are useless, and there aren't any elite units to call on. We are literally the only people who can do this."

"And just 'cause we can means we should?"

"Yes!" she shouted.

"It stands like this," Rude continued. "Currently the sector police are unable to effectively pursue the killer because their chief loses sight of their objective the moment he finds any Soldier to torture for their crimes. Mayor Domino is against our involvement, forcing Reeve to use his personal money to pay for our home and employment, thus limiting our resources. With Soldier disbanded and partly our enemy, and the reserve members of the Turks out of contact, we're the only party capable of hunting the serial killer, and more importantly, willing to do so."

Reno snorted a laugh. "Us three, huh?"

"Five," Elena corrected. "Domino did assign a Soldier to work with Reeve, some woman named Atma. Reeve also plans on using Cait Sith so he can help us fight."

Reno laughed again. "Cait? That stupid spy robot?!"

She grinned at the ludicrous nature of the fact. "I know it sounds stupid, but he's convinced it can help. I think it'll only help as a decoy, but if it works, why not?"

"So that's it, then. We're the heroes and gotta save the world from evil, even if it means we get killed, like it or not."

"Reeve wants us to try and find other people to help, too, but so far we haven't had any luck."

"Well that's just fuckin' dandy."

"I know it's a long shot, but did you run into any of the others after Meteor?" she asked.

Reno considered the question for a few seconds, pursing his lips. "No, but I remember that bright kid lived in sector eight. Y'know, the pretty girl."

"Sector eight was wrecked though. You think she's still be there after that?"

"Hey, I just said what came to mind, girlie."

Elena muttered disappointment. "She could be anywhere, then."

"Well shit, girlie, I'm tryin' to be helpful, here."

"I know, I know..."

"Rude, you know anythin'?"

He shook his head. "Nothing more than what we've considered. The sheer volume of the inhabited sectors has hampered our plans since the start. There's no guarantee that we will have any chance of locating old colleagues. The only logical place to find information on survivors would be at the city hall."

"'Cept Domino's written us off." Reno scratched his head, idly running fingers through his greasy hair. A sudden grin lit his features. "We could just sneak in an' have a look around, though."

"Sneak in?" Elena repeated the words, eyes wide. "Break into the new city hall? Why?"

Reno looked at her like she just asked why the sky was blue. "City records, girlie. If I was mayor, I'd wanna keep track of where people're livin'. Maybe we can see if he's got some addresses for some of our buddies."

"But how would we do it? We don't even know if there are records!"

Again Reno chastised her with his eyes. "Hello blondie, we're _Turks_ , remember? We break in an' look for 'em. It ain't like we have anywhere else to go."

She blushed lightly, forgetting that detail. She looked at Rude for support. "What do you think?"

Rude gave her a sympathetic look. "We don't have many other options."

"When would we go?" Elena asked the redhead.

"Not tonight, fer sure," Reno muttered.

"Tomorrow, then?"

A shrug. "Might as well. You both cool with it?"

"Yeah," Elena said, Rude nodding his reply.

"Then it's settled!" Reno finished the remainder of his beer. "Alrighty now, two questions: where are you hidin' the liquor and whose bed am I getting?"

* * *

 _ **Somewhere in Sector Three**_

Consciousness returned slowly, filtering through the emptiness of sleep and pain. Bruises sang out across his face, his back, his legs. It took a minute, but he ushered forth the strength to lean up from his prone position on the ground. Opening his eyes, he saw that it was dark. A dim white light shone in through a window, telling that it had to be nighttime. He looked around to see where he was, taking in muted white walls and an empty wood floor in an otherwise nondescript room. He lifted a hand to his face, gingerly touching his injury. The flesh felt raw, tendrils of pain radiating along his jaw and into his skull, a reminder of the beating he suffered at the hands of the Soldier. Recalling that his leg was hurt badly, he looked down and saw it was no longer crooked. Experimentally, he lifted the leg up and wiggled his toes, feeling pain but nothing that otherwise hindered the bones from moving. He swore he broke it when he took that fall. His hand, too, was bruised, but otherwise still intact despite knowing the fingers had been stomped on and mangled.

A movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention in an instant, but there was only a skinny white cat taking it's time to walk across the room and bound out the open window. He sighed, relieved it wasn't a monster or worse. Had the Soldier abandoned him somewhere to make a clean escape?

"Awake, hm?" someone commented.

Again his eyes darted to the source of the voice, and he saw a darker shadow in the frame of a door and eyes that seemed to glow like fireflies. His expression changed when it dawned on him who it was. Hands nervously padded at his waist, but his belt was gone and so were the pockets full of tools. He has no protection at all, meaning all he had was his bruised body. Against that Soldier he was completely outmatched, at the complete mercy of a madman.

"Who're you?" Piper demanded, struggling to get on his feet.

The shadow didn't reply.

He was nearly forced to lean against the wall for support, unable to put much weight on his hurt leg. He tried to put the pain away and straightened himself out to prove he wasn't so badly injured. It felt like he had to prove it to himself as well. "What do you want with me? Are you holding me hostage? It won't work, Varik doesn't deal with criminals."

"Let's play a game," the shadow suggested innocently.

"A g-game?"

" _Yes_ ," it hissed. "It's easy."

"What the hell-"

"You get a head start," the voice cut through Piper's argument, "and I try to catch you."

"Catch me? What the fuck is this?!"

"You get one minute, Piper."

Piper hesitated in his reaction, wondering if this psycho was being legitimate. A sudden chill raced down his spine when he wondered what would happen if he was caught. Considering this situation he was struck by an epiphany, the reason for the kidnappings and the murder and the time between. Being caught meant being beaten to a pulp, brought back here, and released again for this murderer's enjoyment; from the time of their kidnapping to their discovery they were running for their life from this madman, killed once they were completely exhausted from the chase. To this man, the whole event was nothing but a game! Piper felt disgust rise in his gut, a raw sense of revolt at such brutal and sadistic entertainment. He looked at the shadow of the man, glaring for all it was worth. There was nothing to show that the man was concerned about the outcome.

"You won't get away with this."

"Maybe. Maybe not," the killer said. "Now you've got fifty seconds."

Piper stood still, conflicted between taking his chance to find someone and alert the sector police or to duke it out here and now and pray for a lucky victory. His bum leg would hinder him running, but it was proven that this man was much stronger than he was. Neither choice presented much of a chance at success. Besides, was the man even going to honor his word?

"Forty five...forty four..."

Piper bolted.

With a burst of adrenaline, he cleared the windowsill as if it were a bump in the street, landing harshly in the alleyway in unfamiliar territory. Looking up he saw the ruined Shin-Ra tower and immediately determined which way was north. The alley jutted to the southwest and northeast, and Piper ran south knowing it would lead to people and to rescue the soonest. He prayed, harder than his lackluster faith thought possible, that whatever god was out there would let him get to a phone and alert the sector police in time. If this was where the serial killer took all his victims, then he could find out what block it was in and corner the madman once and for all. He could become a hero for all of Midgar! But first he had to survive.

The alley ended, dumping Piper into an abandoned street with no lights or sign of human activity down either boulevard; broken homes and shattered buildings were his only company, except a lunatic counting away in an otherwise hidden nest. He panicked, wondering which way was fastest, and turned right to head to the outer rim of the sector in blind hope that he would run into the budding shelters being constructed in the open lands outside of Midgar proper. He looked into the sky, hoping to see some light bleeding out from the active neighborhoods, but there was nothing out there except the half hidden glow from the heavens.

A sudden crash and clatter of metal nearly made him fall on his face, the shock so much that it froze him in motion. He recovered roughly, looking back and knowing that the serial killer was finally in pursuit. The killer probably made such a racket for the very reason of scaring the shit out of him, using psychological trauma to keep him unsettled. Piper tried to concentrate, knowing that if he was reduced to panic and terror, then he stood no chance of getting out alive. This was his only chance, when he was in the best shape possible to run and not hindered by further bruises or exhaustion. His breathing was sharp and shallow, muscles flexing despite pain and weariness, urged on by frantic mental commands. Body on adrenaline fumes, spirit raging wildly, he continued onward knowing there was no other hope to believe in. Subterfuge was only possible in familiar grounds, random patterns only successful if given time and energy, neither of which were in his court. A straight run was his only gamble, a simple competition of endurance and willpower. Whomever could outlast the other would win the day.

Suddenly a terrible crackle erupted from behind him, and Piper felt a warm torrent of wind lash at his backside with more ferocity than any wind he felt before. It burned hotter, stronger, cut through his clothes and clawed into his skin and nerves, sent unparalleled agony through his entire body. The wind became so furious it lifted him up from the ground, legs churning in midair, and threw him like a rag doll into the asphalt of the street. He collapsed into a heap, too numb with shock to consider what had attacked him. Each heartbeat felt like a hammer in his head, transmitting the pain throughout his limbs. But he stood despite it, tapped into some pitiful reserve of strength and turned to face his oppressor, knowing the game was up. The killer was casually walking to meet him, smiling wide, eyes like windows into hell.

"Your turn's over," the killer announced, almost giddy.

Piper began to despair.

* * *

 _ **Reeve's Apartment, Sector Two**_

The electronic alarm went off, a shrill buzzing piercing the silence of the bedroom that woke Reeve quickly from his sleep; but his limbs felt like iron and his muscles like taffy. Rolling over, he focused his sleep encrusted eyes enough to see where the snooze button was and pressed it with his thumb. Silence returned, and he turned over and slid back into rest. He repeated the process two more times then, finally unable to fall back into blissful dreams, stood up and turned the alarm off for good. It was a quarter to seven in the morning, the sky dark with gray cumulus clouds that rolled across the city. Rain was probably a certainty today, or at least a good chill wind from the ocean that would dictate a heavy coat.

He walked out of the bedroom and into his bathroom to shower, brush his teeth, shave and trim his goatee. Done, he trotted into the kitchen, pressing a button to start the percolator for his coffee. From the refrigerator he took out a block of cheese and deftly cut off two slices, then buttered up some bread and began grilling that on an electric stovetop pan. With the sort of pattern formed by habitual bachelorhood he finished two grilled cheese sandwiches just as the percolator began gurgling and issuing out the tonic into the pot. Washing the whole affair of cookingware while eating one sandwich, he poured the coffee into a thermos and left the rest for the evening. Casual slacks and shirt, a tie loosely done around the neck, a worn out greatcoat and hat, and Reeve stepped outside to face the day. Munching on his second sandwich, he mentally prepared himself for what was to come. Today would be his struggle on behalf of the people who suffered under the shadow of the serial killer.

Weather feeling attune to his feelings, the wind slowly grew from a lazy stirring of dust to a breeze that whipped spent scraps and leaves across the avenues and alleys. Business teetered on the border between going at full throttle or holding back on the account of the inclement setting. People hurried between doors and held their jackets closed. Reeve had to keep a free hand ready to leap on his hat in case a zephyr tried to snatch it away. By the time he finished the walk to the doors of the city government offices droplets began pattering the ground regularly.

Inside, the silence was deafening. The woman at the front desk waved a brief hello, turning her attention to paperwork scattered across the surface of her workspace. Reeve never expected much out of her, so he offered his own brief greetings and proceeded down a hallway and walked up to the second floor. He made a right and walked to the end of the hallway and opened the door to his small private office. Inside he hung his coat and hat to dry, placed his thermos on the desk and had a nip to wake him further. Rather than deal with the paperwork necessary to the order of his investigation into the serial murderer, he picked up the already marked binder on his desk. Securing his tie properly, tugging his cuffs, Reeve walked out of his office and took his time to reach the mayor's suite. Estrella waved him in, Domino expecting his visit. Inside, the mayor sat with his fingers steepled and his expression bordering between calm and annoyed, eyes lost on the surface of his oak desk.

"Mister Domino," Reeve spoke.

"Mister Tuesti," the mayor replied.

"I trust you know why I'm here."

"I do." He shifted in his chair, folding his hands together. He nodded. "Sit."

Reeve did so, sliding the binder onto the desk. "You've also read these reports, I take it?"

"Yes."

"Then you know what I'm going to say."

"I do, and I don't agree with it."

"Then can we be frank, sir?" Reeve waited for Domino to reply. The older man nodded after several moments. "You're being a fool. We need more experienced men to take on this kind of task. As much as you hate to admit it, Shin-Ra had the best of everything and everyone. If you would just try to offer them some sort of compromise, we could stop this and any future crisis without this much trouble."

"You'd make a deal with the devil we just freed ourselves of? You're asking too much of me."

"I'm not asking enough as is! We need the Turks on this, and Soldiers. The sector police are spineless cowards who follow any order that Varik gives. He just wants to carry out his revenge fantasies against Shin-Ra and anyone else he doesn't like. They aren't going to catch this killer, so someone has to take up the slack."

"I won't change my mind about those damn Turks, Reeve! Soldiers I would agree with, but they are so few to be found."

Reeve growled, frustrated. This was already falling apart. "Did Varik at least get a portable generator for the tower?"

"I haven't heard any word of that yet."

"Dammit." It wasn't a surprise. Reeve expected that the police chief would ignore that request merely to spite him, even if it cost them days in the hunt. He was proving to be as hypocritical as the mayor. At least he wasn't so ambiguous about his feelings.

"Reeve, we're doing the best we can with what we have. We can't-"

"We _aren't_ doing the best we can!" he belted out, surprised at his flat accusation. But his anger was on the rise and there wasn't much of a reason to hold back. The mayor had to hear this. "That's the whole problem, Domino, you just impose these useless fucking rules because of your personal grudge against Shin-Ra and still expect miracles! We can't win this fight without those people!"

If Domino was surprised by his outburst, it didn't show in his own angry expression. "I won't beg for their mercy when those bastards held us by the throat just months ago!"

"Then we _lose_!" Reeve barked. "We let murderers take control of the streets and this city _dies_! Do you want your last hurrah to be remembered as a complete failure?"

"We will make due with the men at hand!"

"And I say we can't!"

"We will!" Domino shrieked. "I will! This murderer will be caught, be executed, and once we finish Shin-Ra for good, we can start on the road to prosperity!"

"Then prove it! Here and now, what possible ace in the hole do you think we have?"

"We don't need an 'ace' to succeed. What we need are people willing to help us fight this tide of evil plaguing Midgar!"

"Shin-Ra employees are willing. God knows there are lots of them willing to work for you!"

"And so far not a single one of them I've interviewed has been worth my time! They all think they can just go back to their former positions as if nothing's changed. None of them are worthy enough to have a place in my city!"

That took Reeve back for a moment. " _Your_ city?"

Domino frowned. "I've been the mayor of multiple cities longer than you've been _alive_ , Reeve. I know what it takes to be a leader, and how a leader must act in hard times. If the public sees us looking to the remnants of Shin-Ra for assistance, it will undermine their trust in us. We _must_ be the ones giving mercy, not the recipient. They'll think we've sold out to them and revolt otherwise."

"Revolt?" Reeve laughed suddenly, too outraged to restrain himself. "You think they'd _revolt_? Right now they have trouble enough surviving each day! They need a strong organization to help them get their lives back together. They're desperate for leadership, even if it means working alongside people they once hated. Shin-Ra's employees are in this, too. We're all in this together, regardless of what we once were. They're working together already, but you need to make it official for it to get anywhere."

"They'll take over if we let them, Reeve! We have to keep them down and break them entirely before they can be trusted with power."

"You make them sound like animals."

"They might as well be!"

The two men remained silent at the parallel, both glaring at one another and daring him to try and disprove their beliefs. Their acquaintance had never been on good terms, and each debate had widened the gap between them until it seemed they were polar opposites to one another. Now, with all the cards on the table, the contest of wills had come to a climax. It felt for a moment that the axis of Midgar's fate spun on their shoulders. When Reeve moved to stand, the world for that moment remained still in anticipation.

"Very well, mayor," Reeve spoke with all the courtesy he could muster. He reached into his shirt pocket and tossed his government ID onto his desk. "You have my resignation."

"Don't be a fool," Domino spat, "you need me."

"Actually, it's _you_ who needs me. I'll capture this murderer without your idiocy hobbling my every step."

"H-Hobbling?" Domino stood as Reeve turned for the door. "Reeve, I won't accept your resignation! You have an obligation to work for me!"

Reeve stopped and looked back "Obligation? Like hell I do."

"You _traitor_! You can't walk out on me!" His hand plunged down to his desk phone and mashed a button. "Estrella! Call security up here immediately!"

"Mister-"

Domino didn't bother to explain, releasing the line and resuming his glare at Reeve. "I'll have you arrested if you leave this office."

Reeve looked at him in shock once again. This wasn't how he imagined their meeting would turn out to be at all, and now this? The mayor was resting his hands on the table, fingers gripping the surface as if holding onto it for sheer life. The fevered glint in his eyes was a familiar sight, one he saw in too many men filled with pride in their infallible logic. It was a glare that predated even Shinra himself, and likely was it's mold from which is grew. A sudden thought came to mind: how much of Domino did Shinra take from in his rise to the presidency?

"You were part of Shinra's inner circle, Reeve. You forced their laws onto this city with no legal right. You _created_ the damn plates that shattered the equality between the rich and poor! You're a monster, just as bad as Shinra was!" The mayor took a deep breath and pointed a finger at him accusingly. "Reeve Tuesti, you must repay your debt to society. If you leave, I'll brand you with your crimes and hang you to rot!"

"Try it, then," Reeve dared, ignoring the mayor and finally leaving his office.

Domino's voice rose up again in anger, but the closing door cut it off to a muted roar. Reeve took in a shaky breath, his face suddenly coated in sweat.

"What's going on, Reeve?"

He looked to see Estrella standing by her desk, her eyes darting to her phone buzzing with Domino's call and back to his.

"Reeve?"

He didn't know how to answer. So much had just happened he didn't know what to even think. "I don't know. The mayor, he's-"

"Why did he want me to call security? What happened?"

"I resigned," he said, the shock of that hitting him again like a punch to the gut. "He wouldn't listen so I-"

"You quit? Why would-"

"I can't stay any longer-"

"Reeve, what happened-"

"I gotta go!" he said emphatically, shocking himself into motion.

He ignored Estrella as she shouted more questions at him, ignored other people who heard the argument and stared. He took in a shaky breath, then headed back to his office. Feeling the adrenaline of the moment drop, he hastily gathered up the documents and reports of the case and slid them into his inter-office briefcase. Sliding on his jacket and hat, he headed for the lobby only minutes after arriving, feeling incredibly weary after the argument. He shook his head in shock. Domino had lost his mind! Clinging to his feeble truths, his false view of the world, it came as little surprise that reality would shake him so badly. Of course his own abrupt decision to quit and be done with the government came just as surprising. Without the mayor's office, he wouldn't be able to ask them or the sector police for any assistance, or have the legal right to arrest the serial killer once he found him. Knowing the chief, he might even be arrested for murder if they got to him first. It would be a predictable outcome from a man like him, but he had no other choice if he wanted to stop the killings.

He entered the lobby and was about to leave when another thought struck him.

 _'If I leave, I'll never get another chance to do this.'_

Reeve turned around and went down a different hallway that reached to the far left wing. At the end of the hall was a door locked by a keypad. He typed in the six number code and the door unlocked itself with a notable buzz. Closing the door and flicking the lights on, he saw several rows of shelving units laden with boxes of documents and old equipment. He looked down those aisles until he saw a familiar white shape sitting in an alcove halfway down. Just as he left it was Cait Sith and the plushy mog, the animated figures still and lightly dusted. Reeve smiled a little at the toysaurus, recalling his times operating the machine and how challenging it was. Memories of his time with Avalanche were there, the good and the bad. Hopefully he would be able to make a positive difference this time.

 _'I shouldn't take too much time. If one of Domino's men sees me here, they might think the worst.'_ He reached down and opened the box that held the remote gloves and headset, blowing dust from them. He slid the headset on and adjusted the mike, then pushed a small button to turn it on. At the same time, a louder than he wished beep issued from Cait's head, declaring it was ready for input. "Unit online. Controller Reeve Tuesti, serial ID four-six-nine eight-three-one seven-seven-two."

"Code accepted. Unit currently in standby mode," the sexless voice detailed.

"Perform level one diagnostic."

"Diagnostic beginning," the voice spoke. "Estimated time to completion, thirteen minutes."

Reeve shook his head. Too long. "Cancel diagnostic. Unit offline."

"Diagnostic canceled. Unit powering down."

Reeve removed the headset and slid it along with the gloves into his briefcase, having to compress them tightly so the locks clicked shut. He would have to run the diagnostic remotely and hope that everything was in working order so it could run on autonomous mode. Departing the storage room quietly, he went back down the hallway to the lobby, mindful of anyone looking out for him. As he reached the double doors and pushed them open, the sound of hurried footsteps on the tile behind him drew his attention. He looked back to the hall and saw a middle aged man jogging to meet him, dressed in business finery that not many others invested in these days. The man didn't look like he had seen where he just was, so Reeve waited until he arrived to see what he had to say.

"Mister Tuesti! Glad I caught you," the man breathed sharply.

"You are...?"

"Hart Adagio, Deputy Mayor." He offered a hand, and Reeve accepted it warily. Hart was Domino's man, a lackey he had met only a handful of times.

"If this is about what Domino said-"

"No!" Hart denied. "It's about the mayor, yes, but not what he accused you of. My office is next to his, so I overheard most of what you two talked about. Estrella also called me and said you'd quit?"

Reeve wondered if their argument had been that loud, or if the walls were that thin. "I did."

Hart's eyes got wide. "Why?"

"Domino won't listen to me any longer. He thinks we can stop the serial killer-"

"Whoa whoa, I heard all that," Hart said, "so let me say a few things. First off, I agree with you. We need to work together to get through this crisis, even if it is with Shin-Ra. I hate them, but that doesn't mean I'm blind to the reality we face. Right now we need to concentrate on rebuilding the city instead of reforming the whole system. We're just figureheads until things settle down, just voices of reason and leaders, not upholders of the law. Domino doesn't really understand this."

"Uh-huh."

"What I mean is..." He grimaced and leaned in closer. "Look, Domino is a dying breed. No one here really likes him, and his intrusive nature has been slowing progress everywhere. Even his family doctor tells me that he needs rest, that the tension is making him physically ill."

Reeve held up a hand. "I don't mean to rush you, but I need to go."

Hart nodded. "Yes, of course. You resigned under duress, but it was your choice. If things were different, would you consider coming back to help?"

"Different how?"

The man tapped his ear knowingly. "I can't say yet, but your resignation already has people talking. I'm going to confront him and say my piece too."

"Uh-huh."

"Keep your phone on. I'll call you shortly, hopefully with good news."

"Alright."

"See you soon."

Hart turned and hurried back into the innards of the building. Reeve opened the door and stepped outside into a wind driven rain. He buttoned his coat closed and ensured that his briefcase was shut completely, then strode onto the sidewalk and began a quick pace for sector three and Delikatessen to meet with the others. Again, there was much to discuss and many things to explain. Nearly three weeks since the start of the investigation and he went from the full support of the city to alienating both the mayor and chief of police and paying for his team out of his own money. Nothing was going as he planned, and he didn't see it getting any easier.

* * *

Domino slammed his phone down, then pounded his desk with a gnarled fist. Not a single person he called was taking him seriously at all! Reeve was just going to walk away a free man when this whole office should be taking him into custody as a traitor and murderer! Even his own deputy had just blown him off with a promise to 'talk it over'. He tried to calm down, but his heart was pounding in his chest and his muscles were chafing to move. He stood up and clenched his hands so tight it hurt. If no one was going to listen to him, he'd do this himself!

He shoved the doors of his office open and saw Estrella there along with a few other members of the city council. Illea and Oberon, department heads for electrical and water services, were chatting quickly to each other. Trent, his own public relations manager, was there and on the phone nodding to someone on the other end. All four of them looked up at him once he emerged, all of them still and faces guarded.

"What are you all doing!?" he shouted at them. "Where's security? Why isn't Reeve under arrest!?"

They all started talking at him, but Trent stepped forward and actually took Domino by the arm to speak closer in privacy. "Mayor, they say that Reeve quit? Is that true?"

"I haven't accepted his resignation, so he's still under my control!" he hissed.

"Domino, listen, everyone here is talking about what happened, but I've heard a dozen different stories and don't know what to believe. You need to make an announcement, get ahead of this before-"

Domino snatched his arm out of Trent's grip. "That's what I've been doing, you idiot! Reeve Tuesti is a traitor to Midgar! He's to be arrested and tried for his crimes against this city!"

" _But what did he do_?" Trent asked again, exasperation seeping into his voice.

"Domino, Reeve would never-" Oberon spoke up.

"He's done nothing to warranty these-"

"He's guilty by his own admission!" Domino shouted at them. "He wants to give Midgar back to Shinra! He's been-"

"Shin-Ra!?"

"He's never said anything-"

" _Everyone, everyone!_ " a voice called out from down the hall. "Everyone calm down! Everyone!"

The group's arguments fell aside as they looked to the speaker, seeing the deputy mayor along with a group of others. Two security guards were with them as well. Domino glared at his assistant and then the others, realizing who they were: the rest of the city council, all the voting members. The whole board was present now. He glared at his deputy as the man approached, wondering what his game was.

"Domino, we need to talk," Hart said plainly.

" _Now_ you want to talk? You've been ignoring my orders for the past hour!"

"For a good reason, mayor." He gestured to one of the others at his side. "This is Judge Fenris, currently the city's chief of justice. You know him, correct?"

Domino locked eyes with the man, familiar with his reputation as one of Shin-Ra's rubber stamps in the court. "It's been a while, Jerico."

"So it has, Albert."

He looked back to Hart. "Why is he here?"

Hart looked at the judge and nodded. The judge returned the gesture, then took out a letter from his coats inside pocket. Opening it, he took a breath and began to read. "Mayor Albert Domino, in accordance with regulation three hundred and sixteen, article seven, I hereby declare that you are mentally unsuited to the task of leading this community, and hereby revoke your title and executive powers. This decision is hereby noted by both verbal contract and written authorization by the standing members of the executive board along with myself, Judge Jerico Fenris, as avatar of the law. Until a suitable replacement is voted into office by the electoral committee, deputy mayor Hart Adagio will receive full powers as proxy per the summation of these actions and taking the oath of office."

Domino's eyes were wide as he listened to the words being spoken, hands curled into skinny fists. When the judge lowered the paper, he jabbed his finger in rage at the people around him. "You fools! You're all betraying me?! Do you want to lead this city into ruin?!"

"Domino," Hart said kindly, yet just as gripping, "you've been leading us downwards since the beginning. Your arrogance has blinded you. _You_ are casting the shadow that you fear will destroy Midgar, but you won't admit it for fear of losing your power."

"I fear nothing! My only concern is that we don't allow Shinra to poison this city again!"

"Shinra is dead, Domino. The company is ruined, it has no more power."

"They aren't! They're only waiting for a weakness, then they'll stab us in the back as soon as they find it! Am I the only one who sees it?" A shadow passed his features, making them curl into a scowl. "No...are you all traitors, too? Did Shinra buy you out? Is this how he'll do it?"

"Domino, we aren't-"

"Don't deny it!" He pointed a gnarled finger at him, teeth bared in a grimace. "Yes. Yes, I see you now, Hart. You've all been plotting against me to get Shinra back in power! You'll twist the laws to your own gain, just like before! Use the law to throw the wool over the people's eyes and get away with it!"

"Sir-"

"I won't have it! I'm still mayor, and I _refuse_ to acknowledge your accusations!"

Everyone was grim-faced at the older man's rantings, listening to his delusion spin farther and farther as to justify his fears. As he bellowed out denials and repercussions, it was evident that the strings holding him together were finally unraveling. Decades of anger, frustration, and fear, spilling out in his words. It was almost poetic, but ultimately sad. Hart looked at the two officers and nodded towards him.

"Be gentle with him," Hart said quietly.

"We will," one of them said. They ignored Domino's swings as they took him by the shoulders and upper arms, telling him to stay calm, trying to make sure he didn't hurt himself.

"I've already called his doctor and his son, they should be at the lobby," Hart said. "They'll take care of the rest."

"Very good."

The two officers led the unwieldy man out of the suite, having to push him along as the man struggled and screamed treason. The voice carried along for a while, but slowly drifted away until it was a ghost on the air, then silent. The men and women all looked to Hart, expecting from him their next tasks. Hart looked at the double doors leading to Domino's office, then decided to walk inside. Everyone followed behind him as he stopped and stared at the desk he served by for so long. How many times had he wondered what it would take to be a proper successor to that man? He never suspected that this was how he could come to the position. Slowly, like an actor in a dream, he walked around the desk and sat down in the chair. From this perspective, the power and responsibility he sought felt heavier than anything he knew.

"Mister Adagio," the judge spoke. "We should call in the remainder of the staff and begin the swearing. We have a full itinerary to consider."

He nodded. "Of course..."


	7. Chapter Seven

story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

 **: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _This is the sorta thing a person ought to experience at least once in their life: livin' in the streets. It's a humblin' time. Makes you think a lot._

 _But bloody hell, I've already done my stint out here!_

 _If it weren't for that uptight bastard I'd still have a home. But no, he wants a fuckin' superhuman army at his beck an' call and culls out anyone who ain't fit to his definition. God, I thought we didn't have to deal with that kind of bullshit since we cut our losses. I guess even guys like him ain't used to how things are. Still, he's got hopes for us, which is more than I can say we got on our own. But. Dammit, but it's gonna end up just like it was then! We're gonna hunt down the others an' drag them by their heels into this or cart them over to the cops. He doesn't even know what the hell else to do once we deal with that!_

 _God damn it._

 _It's better than livin' in the streets, but only a hair's bit better, an' that's the rub, wonderin' if it's worth the difference._

 _-Lari_

* * *

 _ **Delikatessen**_

Reeve stepped inside the shop and shook the water from his coat and hat. He then walked down to the booth that the others normally reserved for their meetings. He saw Atma with her back to a wall, facing the door so she could keep an eye on the people inside. When he was about to take a seat, he noticed another person sitting in his usual spot. Said person looked up with a grin, but his eyes were ringed with darkness that subdued the humor.

"Yo," the redhead said in a scratchy voice.

"Reno?"

The Turk chuckled at himself. "Jeez, it's like everyone's surprised I'm still alive."

"Uh...well, I just didn't expect you here from what Elena said."

"Girl doesn't know what to say."

"Well, it's good that you joined us." Reeve sat down on the opposite bench, hanging his coat and hat on a hook in the aisle. "Might I ask why you changed your mind?"

"'Cause 'Lena and Rude would both bug me until I did. Figured I might as well give in and lend a hand."

"I though it was-"

" _You_ thought, girlie," Reno spat. "It doesn't meant it's what _I_ think."

"Don't be an ass, Reno."

"Just bein' honest."

"It doesn't mean you have to be rude, you know," she whined.

"What, you'd rather I lie about it?"

"No, but-"

"Which is it, then?"

"Ahem!" Reeve interjected. "I can see you're doing okay, Reno. Can we get started?"

The redhead rolled his eyes.

"Right. Elena, did you tell him what's happened?"

"Just what we're up against. I doubt he remembers much considering how wasted he was last night."

"Alright, I'll just start from the beginning, then. Right now, Reno, we are on our own. The Mayor is completely against having the Turks involved in the investigation, and the police chief is more interested in hunting down any Soldier he can find instead of going after the killer. That means we can't rely on any of them for help. Right now I want to find others to help us, you being the first. I visited with Domino this morning, and he is completely lost in getting revenge on Shin-Ra. I..." He drifted off on that word, his train of thought lost.

"I what?" Elena asked.

Reeve shook his head. "I think that Domino is...he's accused me of being a traitor. I think he's losing it."

"You think he had it in the first place?" Reno jested.

"He's a good man, but the pressure is getting to him. His secretary, even the deputy mayor agree that we need to cooperate to get through this. Domino just wants to carry on his crusade against Shin-Ra until there's nothing left of them."

"There's hardly much, anyway," Elena commented.

"But he thinks it's enough that they pose a threat."

Reno snorted in humor. "So he's a nutcase. We write him off, same with the sector police. What's left, then?"

"Us. Whomever else we can find and enlist."

"Yeah, about that. I'm plannin' on breakin' into city hall to sneak a look at the records. You work there, know where they are?"

Reeve shook his head. "No."

"Why not, man? I thought you were still a big-wig with the mayor."

"I am, but I'm mostly working on this serial killer case. I hardly have anything to do with public records."

Reno pressed him further for info. "Could you get in at least? Get me in even?"

"I don't know."

"Know anyone who could?"

"No."

"Shit." He took his coffee and had several gulps. "So much for an easy job. Still, at least it'll be something to do instead of talk."

"Another thing," Reeve continued. "The deputy mayor, he and I talked before I came here. He said that not many people are happy with how Domino runs things. He said that he wants to change that."

"How?" Elena asked.

"I don't know. He said he couldn't talk about it there. I think he was afraid someone would overhear and tell Domino."

"The old fart paranoid, too?" the redhead suggested.

"It wouldn't surprise me."

"An honest statement, finally." Reno sat up and leaned forward on his elbows, rubbing his temples. "Right. So, what we're gonna have to do is get into the city records an' try to find out where our buddies are shacked up. If we can do that, then we start searchin' the sector for the psycho 'till we hit paydirt and drag his ass to prison or a grave. If not, we do it on our own. Simple enough. We got any hints? 'Lena?"

"Actually," Reeve brought up his briefcase, "I have reports from the sector police about the murderer."

"Let's see 'em."

Reeve opened the case and pulled out the full reports of the five victims, handing them over to the Turk. The redhead began scanning them quickly, eyes darting back and forth, brows narrowing at certain passages. He briefly looked at the pictures, referring to the text as needed. Nearly a minute passed before he grunted, lips curled, and set the paperwork down with a serious expression.

"The guy's got Jenova cells in him."

"We suspected that much."

"But he ain't a success."

"I think he might be. Why else would he have a number?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. But I know that there weren't lots of 'em. Sixty, maybe seventy, but not up to a hundred."

"When did you learn that?"

Another shrug. "Rumors, whispers. People said that Hojo got fed up when he couldn't make another success like Sephiroth, so he quit the project. 'Sides, the President had him slavin' over the Neo-Midgar project and that Cetra chick to worry about 'em."

"So why would he had a number if he wasn't a success?" Reeve wondered aloud.

"Beats me."

"Well, his identity and position aren't as important for now. We need to think about how to search the sector and how to get others to help us. Elena, Rude, did you have any luck aside from finding Reno?"

Elena shook her head. "No. None of the reserve members answered our calls. Most of them weren't in service, so I don't think we can count on more Turks for help. Even Rude is at a loss."

"Uh-huh. I've tried my end with no luck, but I did get the controls for Cait Sith. I can get him out of the building tonight, remote or otherwise. Reno, you run into anyone who would help?"

"Nope. Hey, you said you left the cat there? Leave 'em. When we break in, you can control it and give us an extra set of eyes. We'll get the thing out of there for you when we leave."

Reeve nodded, felt a grim frown at the ease he agreed to that crime. "That would work."

"'Course it would. So at least that'll sort us out tonight. What can we do 'till then?"

"Try contacting more people, or search the sector. At the least we can tell people in the area to keep an eye out for strange occurrences and to report them. If the sector police won't do their job, then we need to pick up the slack."

"So the same as yesterday," Elena muttered.

"Yes...uh, excuse me." Reeve reached to his belt and removed the vibrating phone and brought it to his ear. "Yes?" He listened as the other end spoke quickly to him in rushed terms. He nodded absently as the conversation carried on one-sided. " _What_! He did? Why? They planned it last week? Really? Oh wow! So what now? Of course. They're all with me. Sure! Sure, we're at Delikatessen by sector police headquarters. That's fine. Okay, see you soon, bye."

"What's up?" Reno asked.

Reeve slid his phone back onto his beltloop with a smile. "That was the mayor's office. It turns out we don't have to break in, Hart just relieved Domino of his position and took over! He wants to meet with us and get this investigation on track. We've just got our authority back on our side!"

"Hold on, now. Hart? You mean Domino's flunky? Rude?" Reno looked towards the older man, and was replied to with a nod. "Really? Damn, that guy's the new mayor? I thought he was just some paper pusher."

"He might be, but he's our best ally now," Reeve said. "He's sending a car to pick us up in fifteen minutes."

"Well, no sense in talkin' about work, then. Let's get somethin' to eat before we go," Reno insisted.

* * *

 _ **Conference Room #3, City Government Office**_

The interior of the room was warm from the presence of so many bodies; the irony was not lost to them that the air conditioner was running instead of the heater on a rainy winter day. The newly sworn mayor was sitting at the head of a large oak table, hands spread across a volume of documents and paperwork. Several pens were by his side for signatures and notes. To his left was Judge Fenris and the members of the executive office, the people just below the mayor who handled the different departments of the government and the city. To his right, almost in complete contrast, were Reeve and his people just out of the weather and unaware as to the extent of the change that was occurring. Having arrived a minute ago, Hart had to break from his fervor of lawmaking to explain what his goals were for them, and what his own plans entailed for the future of Midgar.

"It's simple in concept," Hart commented lightly. "Right now we're just streamlining the efforts of reconstruction for the city. Individuals and companies from outside of Midgar have all the experience they need to get the job done without our interference; we're just ensuring that certain standards are upheld in the process. Other than that, we have the whole legal system to overhaul in the meanwhile. Shinra wasn't exactly fair-minded about lawmaking. But, those are concerns for us. Right now I understand that you have just as pressing a need to capture this serial killer and bring him to justice."

Reeve nodded. "Yes, sir. As it stands we need all the help we can get to flush the killer out of sector three. We simply don't have the manpower or leadership to do that."

"What of the sector police? Aren't they just as determined?"

"Determined, yes, but completely useless on account of the police chief. He puts his personal vendetta against all Soldiers ahead of finding the killer, and the police in turn follow his lead. Their efforts have given us results, but so slow that it might be weeks more until the killer is caught. Weeks more that the populace can't tolerate."

"Just how many people has this killer claimed?"

"We think twelve so far. An officer was recently kidnapped by the killer, and we think that he has less than twelve hours to live until the murderer kills him."

Hart appeared taken aback by the news. "So soon?"

Reeve grimaced as he mentioned the grisly details. "The killings seem to differ, but fall into a thirty six hour average. Officer Piper was taken almost a day ago, so I must anticipate the worst."

"Have the police made _any_ progress?"

"They caught a Soldier shortly after Piper radioed in a distress call, but I know he isn't the guilty party. Varik has been busy torturing him for information. He hasn't spoken to me since then. Could I be frank, sir?"

Hart smiled lightly at the meek request. "I'm not an overlord, Reeve. Speak your mind."

"Thank you." Reeve considered what next to say. As much as he didn't want to sound like he was whining, there were too many things in his way to make effective progress on his goals. He would just have to hope that Hart was willing to bear with him. "Domino originally came to me and requested that I create an elite unit of people to work alongside the sector police. I think he did so because he didn't think they were good enough to stop the killer, and because I worked with Avalanche for a time." Reeve motioned to the others sitting alongside him. "As you can see, only Atma was officially assigned to work with me. The Turks I brought on with my own money because of their talents. Domino would not stand to work with them, so he forced my hand. Even then Varik was not willing to work with them, and neither would the sector police itself. I've done the best I can, but this petty bias against Shin-Ra employees has hampered the investigation greatly."

Hart seemed unabashed by the criticism. "So what would you ask of me?"

"Well...to start, to have the Turks be added officially into the unit along with anyone I deem fit to the job. I don't want to say this, but unless you could convince Varik to accept us equally, I don't know what to do except override his authority."

"Allowing the Turks on is simple enough. I'm sure your wallet would appreciate it." A dull chuckle filtered through the room. "As to additional members to your unit, I can bring as much information from the emergency relief teams as you need. If there are people you want in Midgar, we'll do all we can to locate them for you."

"Thank you, sir."

"As to the problem with Chief Varik, that will be tougher to solve. The sector police are badly understaffed because of the crisis, and we need leaders. Despite your words, I've heard much praise about the new chief from the police themselves. They get along well with his brand of authority and command. I will see to it that he is reminded about his goals, that I won't tolerate this killer's mark on this city any longer."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Hart looked to a large person at the end of the table. "Wikker, send the message as you see fit. Make certain he knows that I won't tolerate any further complaints of this sort."

He inclined his head atop broad shoulders. "Of course, Mayor."

"Conrad, ensure that any records we have of people of interest are available to him. Shelters, hospitals, those sent to other towns, anything."

"I will do my best, sir," another suit replied.

"Excellent." Hart crossed his arms lightly, an idle gesture. "I'll anticipate good results because of this, Reeve. I want you to know that everyone is behind you, so there won't be any lacking of authority to hinder your search. If you need anything else, tell me now so it won't delay this more than necessary."

"If I may," Rude spoke.

The occupants of the table looked at the Turk, Elena and Reno especially. He leaned forward slightly to get a better eye to eye contact with the mayor before continuing. "Do you have communications to Junon?"

"At the moment only by physical means. PHS services are still being repaired for outer-city calls."

"Would it be possible to charter a helicopter to go there?"

"Certainly. Junon's engineering teams send regular flights for manpower and material. Sending you wouldn't pose a problem. May I ask why?"

Reno snorted in humor. "So we can get some people to help us out. _Duh_." The redhead smirked at his comrade. "Good thinkin', dude!"

"Whom do you mean?" Hart asked.

"Other Turks, man!" he blurted out. "Jeez, you think we were all in Midgar? President Rufus stationed some guys there when he took over an' never recalled them during the crisis. If they haven't ditched us, then maybe we can find 'em."

"Is this true?"

"Why'd I wanna lie about somethin' like that? God, you - ooph!" He winced when Elena jabbed him in the ribs. "Hey!"

"Don't be rude!" she whispered harshly.

"What he means," Reeve said loudly to quiet them, "is that they can find people there much faster than here. I should have thought about that myself, it'd be so much easier!"

Hart nodded in understanding. He had been considering asking more of Junon to speed the rebuilding of Midgar along, but hadn't thought of the military value the port-city could offer. It was the second most defended position that Shin-Ra owned, and was home to their airship and naval battalions. If there was anywhere else to get power from, it must be from there. But what allies there would the Turk want to bring? More of their ilk, or unknowns? Little fears shifted in his head, but he pushed them below and reiterated his belief that they weren't going to betray them or bring them harm. There was enough trouble getting everyone to work together already.

"I'll see to it that he goes with the next flight. I assume your man will go?"

"Rude can see to it," Reeve answered. He looked back at the man. "How long would you need?"

"Only half a day. If whom I seek isn't at station, they each have apartments in the middle district. I know their addresses."

"Very well. Junon has a flight that leaves every day at dawn, so you should get there by late morning and be able to hitch a ride back here in the afternoon." He looked back to Reeve. "Is that all you need?"

Reeve smiled while standing. "This should be good enough to start with."

Hart followed his action. "Good. I wish you and your colleagues the best of luck."

"Thank you, sir."

The group stood up and filed out of the conference room, leaving Hart alone again with the endless bureaucratic war to continue. He took the documents concerning the serial killer and turned them face down at the corner of the table, then slid the next agenda item to the forefront: numbers on the population living in the tent city outside Midgar, materials, lists, and recommendations that needed approval. He frowned at them, gathering them into their folder.

"Cort, take these. I don't have the time to waste on authorizing aid. I know you'll handle them fine."

The members passed the file down until it reached Cort, and the man tapped them on the surface to even the papers inside. "If you're certain."

Hart stood then, feeling agitated and tired from the meeting. "Gentlemen, ladies, I've had enough. Domino was happy to lord over your jobs, but I have faith that you all can perform excellently without me hovering over your shoulders. Take these papers back and use your own discretion as how to act. Cort, Conrad, Mary, if _anything_ is needed to maintain the shelters and keep basic services moving, get them with my blessings. I don't want to see you here with requests like these again."

The three sounded their understanding.

"Wikker, I don't need to remind you to keep the police on track hunting this criminal. Illea, Oberon, I want the both of you to take a heavy look at sector one and be creative. Since most of it has been flattened, I want it to be the starting point for a new Midgar. Don't limit yourselves, but make it quick. We all know that the sooner we have permanent homes in clean streets, the better moral will be."

Those three also agreed to Hart's orders.

"Trent, I want you to double your talks with other city leaders. Midgar needs outside support desperately, and I'm thinking that people are hesitant because they are afraid. Remind them of the human suffering, even if it means playing on emotions. I won't feel bad if we have to guilt others into helping if it means saving lives." Hart looked at each of the persons in the room, seeing pride and determination in their features. These people would be famous in the years to come, known as the ones who pulled this city from the ashes and into prosperity once more. He smiled widely in that pleasure. "That's it, people. Let's go."

* * *

 _ **Somewhere in Sector Three**_

His senses all felt dulled, like they had been hacked at by rusty tools and worn away to miserable semblances of what they once were. His nerves felt like they were on fire, which they had been several times in the last few hours. Eyesight was muddled by unwanted tears and exhaustion, his nose was broken out of alignment, his limbs felt like they were tied down with weights. It was entirely unlike any sort of weariness he could ever recall. The worst of beatings, even all-nighters on surveillance seemed so minor compared to here and now. No matter how he tried to lay on the floor, his body ached and bruises radiated pain into an overwhelmed mind that wouldn't submit to unconsciousness. The artificial drone of magic, curative spells and ability boosting mantras, sung though his veins and tried their hardest to keep moving a body rapidly falling into coma. He couldn't imagine anything worse, couldn't think outside his own body's hurts and how each little twinge meant something else was dying inside. In less than a day, or however long it had been, his world had become this room and the immediate six blocks surrounding it, and the God who ruled stood leaning in that doorway with his cheshire cat grin and burning mad eyes.

"Time to play, Piper," the killer said tauntingly, as if teasing a pet animal.

Piper couldn't even find the motivation to argue with the killer, or even vocalize an argument. He took a deep breath and winced, the gasp sounding like an old gate closing. He tried to get up, to continue this game, but his arms and legs only barely scooted across the floor. Unable to sit up, he rolled onto his side and gritted his teeth at the several bruises and badly healed cuts on his arm, then succeeded on getting to all fours. With care, he slowly crawled forward until he reached a wall, then placed his hands on it to support himself. It took effort, actual effort, to put some of his weight on the wall and stand up without falling over and hurting himself further. Turning his eyes, he saw the killer watching him with his inhuman patience.

"Is it painful?" the killer suddenly asked.

Piper took a breath, tried to speak. All that came out was air that sounded like a curse.

"So that's it? You're at your limit?"

No response.

The killer shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Below average, and for a policeman! How disappointing."

"F-fuck you..." Piper managed.

"But still angry! Good." The killer rubbed his wrist with the slot bracelet. "That's good! That means a good last show."

Piper understood now the whole ordeal that the victims experienced. The killer would catch them, heal them of their injuries, and set them loose only to be caught again. As the process repeated, more spells were needed to keep the victim strong and able. However, magic had it's limits. Soon wounds appeared that couldn't be healed properly, or not at all. Exhaustion and fatigue poisoning began eating at the mind, and spells for haste and spells for ridding those toxins were applied. Delusions set in, violent tantrums or outright emotional breakdowns occurred that no spell could stop. Piper knew his ribs were healed unevenly, constricting his lungs and prodding at muscles. His leg was healed askew, forcing him to move pigeon-footed. Circular burns, like charred meat, marked a pattern across his back, blood and pus still oozing freely. Even as doped on magic as he was, he still felt ready to collapse into a heap.

The killer finally lifted that arm and began humming the mantra to a spell. He smiled widely and looked directly at Piper. "No more playtime, Piper. It's the end. Let your rage do all the work, it's all you have left. Go _berserk_."

A fantastic array of sparkling lights and ribbons spun across his arm, then bolted over to Piper and wove themselves across his eyes and his head. It felt like a sudden heat washed over his body, the sort of dry heat you only get in a desert like Corel. But it got hotter in his body, and his muscles began tightening and twitching. Nervous energy was making him quiver like his skin was going to jump off his skeleton. Even with the pain, he felt a terrible impulse to get the heat out overcome his mind, and then the thought came like a crack of thunder.

 _ **KILL THEM**_

It boomed in his mind, emptied out all other concerns and became the axis of his world. Even the pain through his body had vanished! Clarity unlike any he felt before rested in his mind, filling him with purpose. With power! He must do this thing.

 _ **KILL HIM**_

Piper looked at the killer, and anger so intense and overwhelming drove him to take action. The man had to die this instant! There was no other alternative!

 _ **KILL HIM KILL HIM NOW KILL KILL KILLKILLNOWNOWNOW**_

" _Killer!_ " he screamed raw.

Limbs acted, and he whirled away from the wall with his fist raised up to give the Soldier a right hook square in the jaw. He succeeded, and the killer actually stumbled back into the other room with amazement in his eyes. Vision was sharp red, blood pulsed in his ears. The thought roared for action, and Piper smiled as wide as he could as he performed. He whipped back with a left jab just beneath the ribcage, struck with the right on the nose, then the left. He laughed when possible, elated that at last he could give the killer the beating he deserved. The Soldier just took it all without fighting back! It was every possible dream come true, and nothing to deny him! Fists stained with _his_ blood pounded on _his_ face and into _his_ gut, and the killer acted like it was nothing! Piper cackled madly. He was going to kill this man and anyone else who ever denied him anything! Today was going to be a day of _vengeance_!

But, impossible as it was, the killer caught his left hand in air and pinned it still. Piper snarled and tried to snake in a rigid fingered jab into the throat, but that hand too was captured and held. Fury boiled over within him, and he thrashed around and yelled to get free and continue the beating. He savagely leapt forward, head angled just right so that it further mashed the bones in the killer's nose and left speckles of blood along his face. With one leg he kicked downwards onto the killer's kneecap, three times before the Soldier stumbled. He wrenched his hands loose, stood still a moment in indescribable rage, then laid into the killer's face with a punch so severe he felt his own knuckles splinter as they bore into skullbone. Again and again he struck, but the killer merely sat half kneeling and took the abuse in stride. Piper tried to wind up a great haymaker, but his muscles were cramping and getting numb; the punch was no more brutal than those before. He tried again and again, but every try seemed to eat up more of the precious energy left in his body. The thought bellowed for action, spun his mind faster than lightning, but a tiny grain of consciousness knew that his body was literally shutting down by the second.

As if waiting for that very thought, the killer suddenly leapt up from his position on the floor and grabbed Piper's throat tightly. He actually lifted the man off his feet, then heaved him backwards into a wall with a terrific crash of moldy plaster and wood. The berserker trance that held onto Piper disappeared as quickly as it came, and complete exhaustion left him spent and empty like a broken bottle. He slumped onto the floor, wide eyed and horribly aware.

Blood was pouring from the killer's nose, his face practically covered in it. He licked his lips, smearing the blood across his skin. "Oh...!" he gasped, his whole body shuddering. "That was so good, Piper, so _very_ good."

He stepped forward and crouched in front of Piper, took a hand and lifted it for them both to see. "But we aren't done yet. You still have to fight me."

Piper tried to, the ghost of his anger still present. All he managed was to curl his fingers around the killer's like a child. Without that overwhelming anger he just couldn't muster anything else. The killer used his thumb to pin his little finger back and slowly applied pressure until he bent the digit back with a meaty snap. Piper whimpered, unable to cry any louder.

"Fight back you slacker."

The officer spat at him weakly. The killer moved his thumb and broke his ring finger.

" _Fight me now_."

The middle finger went next. Piper picked up his free hand and balled it into a fist, then tried to punch his tormentor. It was barely a tap on the face. The killer smiled, then broke the index finger. Piper tried again, but was so weak he grabbed onto the killer's matted hair and tugged it pathetically.

"Don't give up on me. Fight back!" the killer demanded, grabbing the thumb violently and breaking it and discarding the hand away. "Fight! Fight dammit!" He snatched away the other hand and methodically broke each finger on that limb, then threw it away like a petulant child. He grabbed Piper by his hair and slammed the man's skull against the wall. "Don't stop now! Fight me! _You have to keep fighting me!_ "

Piper looked at the killer with blurry vision, felt his mind lose it's concentration. Pain, so immense to break through the numbing magic, left him in total shock. He felt numb, so cold after the adrenaline fury of the rage-trance. Little random thoughts crossed his mind: how he was expecting to be demoted to desk work for his poor performance in the street, how that vacation three years ago to the Gold Saucer cemented his marriage with Elaine, how much he hated the taste of the cheap beer from the pub his friends dragged him to. One thought insisted he was seeing his life passing before his eyes, and that it wasn't as dramatic as he wished. Not enough musical flair, his high school drama teacher reiterated, would mean that the audience was less likely to recall it in the future. Piper settled for father's piano music with that C that was too sharp for it's grouping. It would have to do.

He knew that the killer was screaming at him, and the vertigo he felt meant that he was still being pounded into the wall like a door knocker. The pain had lost it's edge, though, and left behind a numb sensation like having a dead arm from sleeping on it funny. His vision was graying out, becoming fuzzy like the old photos from his grandparent's albums. Movements were becoming jagged, uneven like a bad movie film. Piper closed his eyes and felt the numbing sensation take a firm hold, and the efforts of living were scattered away. He thought he smiled when he realized how much effort it took merely to _live_ , and how comforting it was to ignore it for the first time. It was wonderful.

* * *

" _Piper!_ " the killer screamed, shoving the head into the wall once more.

The man didn't respond.

The killer stood and walked away, arms gesticulating to the empty room as anger flooded through his mind. Why? Why was it that no one could ever last long enough to satisfy him? Why did these people have to be so weak, so pathetic? He knew they had the potential, gleaned from so many insane rages he overcame and so many fights, but what else was missing? Was it something as basic as strength, or was it the spirit? Did they merely lack the will to continue on even after being completely broken? Piper missed it. All of the people he took did. Was that it, he asked himself? What was it they were all _missing_?

He paused in his silent monologue, looked back at the man and saw so much wasted potential in that flesh. Given the chance, Piper could have taken that anger and molded it into power, but instead his society told him to be satisfied with such weaknesses. The killer ground his teeth. This was going to be long and unbearable task, but someone had to prune the weakness out of these people. Only the strong had the right to live, the weak left to be killed by the strong. It was the ultimate law of nature. Just because humans were smarter than animals didn't mean they were above natural law.

But it didn't mean that the weak were deserving of their fate. No. If only there was enough time...

A shake of the head, and the killer released a held in breath; there was no more time left. In the wake of Meteor, in the anarchy that would permit these changes to become permanent, he had to act quickly to ensure the law was to be upheld by everyone. No more ripe a time for social revolution would come in his life, and he had to do what he could.

Putting aside thoughts of mercy, he strode over to Piper and began to strip the man of his things. Today would be a day of rest, and tomorrow another put to the test.


	8. Chapter Eight

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

 **: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _I think, if given time and hard work, that we can pull this off._

 _Midgar may be a ghost of it's former self, but we're making due with much less than Shin-Ra had and achieving more than they could imagine. Plans for new neighborhoods and districts are pouring out of my staff's heads, and Junon's engineer corps are making short work of the slums and turning them into proper homes. It's been said more than once that this is the first time that some of the citizens have ever had a room to themselves. I find it funny and disturbing that a worldwide crisis was needed to make it happen. Still, these latest reports from the corps leaders are piquing my interest. Many of them agree that rebuilding the slums is taking too much time, and that building an entirely new city just outside Midgar proper would be cheaper, easier, and faster. Some of my people think it would be a huge symbolic gesture for a new start. They call this plan the 'edge city project' for a lack of better names._

 _They fail to see that it also would be a symbol of our failure to revive Midgar, and in turn, leave us that corpse of a city to remind us of that failure._

 _It's a delicate time to wonder about grand gestures such as that. Once this meeting starts, if it turns out that leaving Midgar behind would be better for the people, then so be it. Perhaps an 'edge city' is better than a half-mended one. Perhaps we need this reminder of our sins so we don't repeat them._

 _-Hart_

* * *

 _ **Runway three, Shin-Ra airship depot, Junon Harbor**_

The airplane, one of the smallest models that Rude ever saw, rocked a little as it made contact with the runway. The plane taxied uninterrupted across two landing strips, heading for boxy hangars packed with others of it's ilk. The radio issued orders for the pilot, and the man deftly led the craft to the last of the buildings and to an arranged space. The flight finally at an end, the engines spun down and the co-pilot stood and unlocked the passenger door, shoving it outside to the still loud drone of the props. He deferred first exit to the Turk, and Rude took it with a nod of thanks to the men for accepting his silent passage. The air outside was moist and salty, a breeze flowing offshore with the scent of smog and industry from the city. Once he finished tugging his sleeves and pants into place, he saw a few people dressed in suits walking in from a car parked by the hangar doors. He proceeded to meet them, recognizing one of the lesser commanders for the presidential security division. The others, he presumed, where his subordinates.

"Mister Rude!" the commander shouted over the noise. "Welcome to Junon Harbor!"

"Thank you for meeting me, commander."

"Your request was received, but I'm sorry to inform you that your person of interest no longer works for us. He quit as soon as word of the President's death reached us, didn't even bother with formalities." The commander snorted in disgust. "Lots of men abandoned the company just as quickly. Goes to prove loyalty is rare these days."

"Loyalty to a dead man is foolish."

The officer glared at Rude, obviously upset but too afraid to openly insult the Turk for fear of the repercussions. He instead frowned. "Loyalty in and of itself requires no figurehead. People who abandon anything or anyone at the drop of a hat aren't worth my spit."

Silence.

"Well, small talk aside, I cannot do much for you. All we have of the man is his last known address. There are others within my command I would recommend in his place, but I presume a person such as you would prefer your own kind."

Rude didn't let the thinly-veiled insult bother him, but he didn't hold back one of his own. "I'm afraid your men are too loyal to consider working under others."

The commander scowled and turned away, pretending to take a PHS call. He walked away with the same posture, but one of the his men approached Rude and handed him a small piece of office notary. It had a home address, phone number, and a second address somewhere in the commercial district.

"He's seen there frequently. It might help to look there as well," the aide explained.

Rude accepted the paper. "Thank you."

The man followed his superior, leaving Rude to himself. The Turk reached into his jacket and took out his phone, then checked the number he had programmed into it against the one on the paper. They matched, so he knew that the man wasn't really planning to completely disappear from society and start anew. He dialed the number and turned away from the ocean breeze. It rang four times before the other end picked up.

"H'lo?" the person answered.

"It's Rude."

"What's rude?" A pause, but the man chuckled before Rude could correct him. "I know, I know, it's you. What can this reservist do for you today, sir?"

"We need to talk."

"Let's have it, then."

"In person."

"Oh. I see. Proof of absence 'n all, who knows best?" The caller laughed a little to himself. "It's really not that big a deal since Shinra's dead, you know, but I guess old habits never die with you guys."

"Where can we meet?"

"How 'bout the Red Riot. It's next to lift seven on four."

"Fine."

"How soon?"

"Twenty."

"Can do my friend. See you there."

Rude ended the call, then headed to the idling car with the officers. The trip out of the airfield was done in silence, the commanding officer unwilling to speak with the Turk who spurned him. They dropped him off just outside the confines of the military installation, and Rude only needed to wait for a minute before a taxi drove by and was flagged down. That trip was also taken in silence save the tinny din of a radio newscast and the occasional notices from his fellow cabbies. The small car drove towards one of the large, hydraulic powered elevators that rode up and down the various levels of Junon, taking a space inside while others slid in like parking stalls. A klaxon sounded, then the lift jolted and rumbled downwards towards the lower districts. It descended by two streets before the cabbie backed out and headed to the south. The street here was very wide to accommodate the traffic of personal vehicles, but it was still crowded and jammed in congestion. With a talent born of the job the cabbie ducked through traffic while applying liberal uses of his horn and obscene remarks in several languages. Rude soaked it all in with relief; the sounds of a living city.

Once he was near the café Rude tapped the man's shoulder and gestured that this was close enough. He opened the door and paid the fare, then stepped outside and hurried to the sidewalk and the rush of pedestrians. In a force of habit he looked around for anyone who struck him as being out of place, but saw nothing that rang as a danger.

He stood still for a while, adjusting his sunglasses idly. He took in a deep breath, held it, and exhaled. Sound, sight, and scent wafted around him, immersing him in a sudden realization of where he was. Men and women in suits, leaving him no longer an eyesore on the streets. Everyone moving with a purpose, everyone clean and well fed. Buildings intact and windows spotless, streets paved and lanes marked. Constant electricity, constant business, constant displays of wealth and grandeur. Junon had always seemed an industrial backwater to him, but now it was a brilliant reminder of the civilization he had been without. A city that was _alive_! A place where the world hadn't crumbled under the onslaught of the contesting powers between a planet and would-be god. So much different than the reality of Midgar, a corpse still warm after it's death.

He stood in it for a solid minute, letting these things wash through him. It felt as if a hollow inside was finally filled. Eventually, though, he began walking to meet with his first contact.

The Red Riot café was a small establishment tucked into the corner of a glass fronted building, modeled in a post-modern style that was sharp edges and shades of dark and light red. The inside was noisy with the conversations of young people, the hissing and grinding of cookingware and coffeemakers. Rude glanced around and saw the man he wanted at a table in the middle of the room, his back to the door. He frowned lightly, then approached.

"Rude!" the man spoke. He turned around with a friendly grin, proving he wasn't letting his guard down. "Good to see 'ya."

"It's been a while, Gin."

"Sit, sit! I'd like you to meet my wife, Nishelle."

Rude wasn't surprised that the man was already married, he expected as much of him if he wasn't tied down by the twenty-four hour needs of the job. The fact was especially true when he noticed how attractive Nishelle was. She was young and buxom, face open with emotions and expressions. She smiled widely and offered a manicured hand.

"Nice to meet you."

Rude accepted the shake gently, then sat down opposite them on the circular table. "The same."

"So I'm guessing you're here on business, right?" Gin sipped his drink. "Haven't heard a peep 'till now, even with everything that happened."

"I am."

"Don't be disappointed if I don't want a part in it. I've got other priorities to worry about."

Rude nodded knowingly. Gin wasn't truly the sort of person that was capable of being a Turk through and through. He performed his job excellently, but afterwards he would lose himself in misery and guilt over what he had done. Doctors said that he suffered from too much stress, internalized too many problems, and that the killings only exacerbated his moods. It was the reason why he remained a Turk in reserve for the many years he served. However, he reflected, there was no time to search for Turks who had a better reputation. Even with his flaws, the man was still trained to fight and kill, still had his unnerving capacity to weasel into anyone's good graces.

"It's in regards to the series of murders in Midgar," he explained. "You have heard?"

"Yeah."

"After much debate and politics, I have been given the task to hire people to aid in finding this serial killer. Will you help?"

Gin chuckled. "I don't think you have a rambling bone in your body, but I like stories and details. Tell me about this killer. What's so special about him?"

"He is an ex-Soldier, likely a subject of the Jenova project. He's claimed thirteen victims and a possible fourteenth in nearly three weeks. The sector police are unable capture him, so the new mayor, Hart Adagio, has ordered Reeve Tuesti to head an elite unit to hunt the killer down. Thus far only myself, Reno, Elena, and another ex-Soldier named Atma are members. The serial killer stalks the whole of sector three and has yet to be sighted or pinpointed. We need more manpower to succeed, hence my presence."

"Remember this, Nixie, you probably won't hear him say that much ever again," Gin jibed.

Nishelle laughed politely. "I know the stories."

"Will you help?" Rude asked again.

"Give a man some time to think, eh? It's not like I can still leave everything at the drop of a hat!" Gin looked to the bar. "You guys hungry? Let's think this over some food. Nixie, love, would you get me a turkey on rye with spicy mustard? Rude, you want anything?"

"Just coffee."

Nishelle stood to get their meal, but stooped and pecked Gin on the lips before doing so. The man watched his wife as she negotiated the tables and got into the ordering line, a smile on his face. "God, I love that girl."

"Gin," Rude insisted.

"I know, I know." He turned back with a businesslike expression. "You wouldn't know it, but she used to be presidential security for Shinra himself before that Sephiroth took him out. Four years in the service and she never lost that innocence. It's what made her so effective. I know what you're thinking, Rude. If she's that talented, then why don't we both go? The reason is that we gave up killing, swore that we wouldn't take on jobs that meant we had to kill someone because of what they believe in. That's why I'm hesitant."

 _'Not a surprise,'_ Rude thought. "We're primarily after the serial killer."

"For now, but what about after? Remember what Shinra had the Turks do? It was going after legitimate threats to the company and the public at first, but we soon became political hitmen to ensure no one rose up against him. What guarantee is there that the same won't happen now? After Shinra it's easy to see how quickly promises and justice fall away when power tempts." Gin grinned. "Just how much restraint does your new boss have?"

"Enough. Midgar will not become what it was, the people and the new government are frightened of such consequences. We have a chance to create a new mindset that is extremely wary of corruption in itself and in others. However, we need to excise the danger from the streets before we can accomplish this."

"Hence, here we are."

Rude nodded.

Gin frowned, shook his head lightly. "It's a tough call. I don't think I'm suited to help start a social revolution. Hell, it's hard enough finding _normal_ work to do."

"I know."

The man looked at Rude with an arched eyebrow. "This is it for you, then?"

"It is."

"And the others?"

"It suffices. We don't have any other viable talents to use."

"Yeah. I suppose any politician needs his secret agents to do the dirty work, and don't deny that eventually you'll be doing those kinda jobs once this killer is caught. It's a natural aspect of government."

"It doesn't mean that it will be as brutal as Shinra's."

"But it could be." Gin lifted a hand. "Ah-ah! Don't say it won't. Remember how easily ideals get corrupted?"

"Then will you help me ensure that we keep the corruption in check?"

He cracked a grin. "Touché."

"What holds you here?"

"Nothing much. Our apartments in Midgar were destroyed, so we made a life of it here. We haven't really settled in, though, I'm sure you know why. Opportunity, then, could be had in Midgar, you think. We could be among familiar faces, among people who understand us, and of course we would be helping to rebuild our hometown. All pleasant and noble pursuits."

"Then?"

"You haven't touched on money, so it means it isn't much. However, I brought it up because it's no worry. Nishelle earned enough for us to live comfortably until the end of our days. Besides, I'm sure that something-"

"Gin."

Gin sighed lightly. "Sorry. I know. Like I said, I have other things to worry about."

"She does not need to come."

"So you'd ask me to leave my wife on her own for an unknown length of time and run the chance of being killed?"

"Yes."

"Honesty...but that's what I like." Gin took another sip of his drink, then tilted the cup back and swallowed the remainder. He wiped his lips, eyes wandering somewhere beyond the confines of the café. "I just can't make up my mind so soon. The Turks were something I wasn't proud to be part of. They don't even exist any more, but that hasn't stopped the need for their like. I don't want to just jump back in without thinking ahead. You understand, don't you?"

Rude nodded.

"Then could you give us some time?"

"I leave at three 'o clock."

"We'll have an answer by then."

"Thank you, Gin." Rude stood up and pulled out his wallet, setting a few crisp bills on the table. He then turned and walked out of the café and into the streets, wondering what to do with the time left to him. There were two other Turks he had to visit, but their apartment's were on the lower tiers. He decided to stop by Gunrunner's and catch up with the bartender and soak up the local news. If he was lucky, he might even run into some other Shin-Ra officers that haunted the place. At the least it would be a chance to indulge in modern luxuries and forget, even for a short time, that the world was any different than the day before Meteor appeared.

* * *

 _ **City Government Office**_

"So this is it, huh?" Reno frowned at the mechanical cat and mog.

Reeve nodded from his crouched position, adjusting settings from the mog's exposed torso. Since they no longer had to worry about stealing into the city hall to find records of their allies, it made sense to bring Cait Sith out of storage sooner than later. It would prove interesting to employ the mechanical toysaurus again, so Reeve wanted to ensure that it wouldn't run into problems in action. It was also so he could reacquaint himself with it's controls after so long. With luck they could get out and use the last of the daylight hours to check in with the police and see what progress had been made. The whole department was on staff and looking for the killer, searching for their missing officer. Reeve hoped that they had success in that.

"Yeah."

"It never did look very threatening."

"That was the whole point. He needed to be common looking so Avalanche wouldn't suspect him as being anything other than he was. Cait _is_ combat capable, if that's your concern. Fighting against Shin-Ra and Sephiroth proved that much." He closed the mog's chest, smoothing the white fuzz to hide the fact. He stood and began checking the settings on the cat. "He's even able to use materia."

"All I wanna know is how much use it'll be. No bullshit either, Reeve."

"Didn't Tseng tell you about him?"

"Nope, it was one of those super special secrets projects between him and Heidegger." Reno snorted at a memory. "Hell, we even fought the damn thing a few times! Had no idea you were behind the controls."

The architect sighed. "Look, he's a robot, so that already makes him better than me at fighting. Cait can even run autonomously, so it's just like having another member in the team. Of course I can take over all functions in necessary, but Cait can do most of the work on his own. I want to help, and this is the best way to do that."

"Why do you keep callin' it 'him'?"

Reeve waved the concern off. "It, him, you know what I mean."

"I think that Reno just hates that it's always upbeat," Elena jested.

Reno grimaced. "It's just so corny! I mean, it's a freakin' _toysaurus_! You know how ridiculous I'd look if I was carryin' on a conversation with you to that?"

Reeve grinned. "Very, I think."

"And fuck you too, dude."

He ignored the remark and continued checking the readouts in his headset. After all was well he stepped back and used his headset to issue a command. "Status of diagnostics."

A beep emitted from Cait's head, followed by a toneless voice in Reeve's ear. _'Diagnostic complete. All functions operating within tolerance levels.'_

"Initiate bootup procedure," Reeve commanded.

 _'Unit powering up.'_

Cait suddenly twitched, and slowly drew himself to a proper sitting position on the mog's head. He looked around with pupil-less eyes, taking a moment to seemingly focus on each person in the room. Looking down, he noticed the fuzz of his companion. Once satisfied, he started swatting the stuffed mog on it's head until it began to stir as well.

"Mog! Hey Mog! Wake up, you doofus, c'mon, get going!" Cait shouted in a high pitched voice.

The mog shifted it's bulk, moving it's arms up and down experimentally. It's large eyes opened and it's grin widened.

"Good." Cait looked up at Reeve. "Reeve Tuesti, right?"

"Yes."

"And who's this?"

Atma, who had been standing silently nearby, blinked several times before answering. "Delita Atma, Soldier second class, one hundred and tenth division. You can call me Atma."

"Nice to meet'cha, Atma! Cait Sith's the name!" Cait said, offering his gloved paw. When Atma didn't accept it, he turned his attention to Reno and Elena. "And these two goons are who I think they are?"

Reeve nodded. "Yep."

Cait looked them over again and shook his head. "The big bad Turks. You still aren't so scary lookin' if you ask me."

"Reeve, what's with this thing?" Reno asked flatly.

"He's running on automatic. He strikes up idle conversation to gather data and report it back to me. It was useful when we used him to infiltrate Avalanche, so I didn't need to control him the whole time."

"So..."

"So right now he can act on his own within his programming. He's surprisingly talkative."

"Huh." Reno tilted his head a little. "So how smart is the thing?"

"Smart enough to know when I'm bein' insulted, you jerk!" Cait snapped out.

"What...?"

Cait stood and pointed a gloved finger at him accusingly. "Yeah, you heard right! Dolts like you think you can call me whatever you like. It's an outrage!" He stooped and picked up his tiny crown, setting it with a jut on his head. "Didn't your momma teach you any manners?!"

"Ohoho, this is fucking _priceless_ , Reeve!" Reno snarled. "Now I've got that toy _insulting_ me!"

"I'll remind him, don't worry."

Reno shook his head in agitation.

"Anyhow, what's up, Reeve?" Cait asked. "Why'd you interrupt my beauty sleep?"

"We have a big problem on our hands," Reeve replied. "Your internal clock is synced properly? You remember everything?"

"Yep, it's twelve-fifty PM, February twelfth."

"Good. Currently we've been rebuilding Midgar's eastern sectors, but we're having trouble with a criminal who's killing people for no apparent reason. The sector police haven't had any luck catching him, and neither have we. Mayor Adagio wants us to put together an elite unit to hunt him down and stop him. Since you held up with Avalanche, it's only natural for us to include you in this mission."

"Mayor Adagio? What happened to Domino?"

"He was removed from the position. It's a long story."

"One I'd like to hear, but whatever. Hey, where's my megaphone?" Cait looked around his person and his perch on Mog's head to no avail. However, the mog lifted one large hand and opened it, revealing the small gold colored horn in it's palm. Cait snatched it and patted the mog's head. "Good job, ya' lunkhead."

"So, are you ready to go?"

"You think I got a choice about it? Let's roll!"

"Good." Reeve looked up at the two Turks and nodded. "We should check in with Varik."

"Why bother with him again?" the redhead groused.

"It's not like I want to, but I want to see if there's any news."

The five departed from the storage room and headed towards the back of the building; they would use one of the government's new electric cars to give them a speedy trip to the sector police headquarters. Reeve moved with added zeal, happy that so many obstacles to his job were being demolished in quick order. With the complete backing of the mayor and eventually the police, it would be much easier to deal with the serial killer. He could consider the future without the present tainting his thoughts. It looked so promising! If they could rid themselves of the rogue Soldiers and criminals, then there was no limit to the society that they could usher in. A new city, a new population full of hope, and the strength in leadership to take them as far as they wanted to go. It was like the first time the President talked about the Neo-Midgar project, promising a paradise free of worry and fear. He only hoped that their goals weren't doomed from the start as that dream was.

* * *

They knew something was wrong as soon as they entered the lobby.

"I've got a bad feeling," Elena muttered.

Reeve hesitated, wondering what was going on past the partition to the main floor. There was hardly any noise from there, no chatter or loud conversations. A terribly cynical mood lurched into his heart and he knew that officer Piper was dead, but he couldn't believe it. He couldn't just let the world crush his hopes that easily. He steeled himself and took a breath, held it, and exhaled in a huff.

"You guys stay here. I'll see what's going on."

"Why?" Reno asked. "He'd be pissed off either way."

"There's no sense in making it worse. Just wait here, please."

The Turk rolled his eyes. "Alright."

Reeve walked ahead and into the office proper, seeing exactly what his ears heard. Everyone present, a small shift in any case, was busy at their desks and didn't notice him. It seemed more like a commercial office from the Shin-Ra tower than a police precinct. He looked around and didn't see Varik, but his office door was closed and Reeve guessed he was inside. He slowly walked across the floor, eyed the central table and all it's reports of the killer, but was stopped by a look from a female officer before he knocked on the door.

"He's not in," she said.

"Where is he?" he asked her.

"Still on patrol."

"Oh." He wasn't aware that Varik went on patrols since assuming command. Each time he'd been here the chief was somewhere around the office.

A silent moment passed between them, stretching until it was almost uncomfortable, before she spoke up again. "You heard about Piper?"

Reeve shook his head. "No."

"They found his body a few hours ago." She sighed, lowered her head. "Fourteenth one now."

So his cynicism won out after all. He had to swallow a lump from his throat before he could speak. "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you."

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"No."

"Can you-"

"No, I mean, I don't know _if_ he'll come back," she added.

That took him by surprise. "What?"

She looked back up at him. "He's been out for over a day. Since that Soldier he found hasn't broke. I've never seen him that shook up. I think he might not come back until the killer's been captured."

"But what about..." He gestured around. "This? All of you?"

"I don't think he cares. His only concern is that killer. We've had to pick up his slack since this started."

"But how can he-"

"He's never been an officer until now. Always worked the streets," she tapped her desk with two fingers, "not a desk. He might just need some time out there to cool off."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry about that, but what can you do?" she muttered, waving a hand around. "Is it something important you need him for?"

"Don't worry, it's nothing serious. I just wanted to see if he had any new leads, but it can wait."

"You can check out the reports if you want." She gestured at the central table. "We've got a lot of new information in. Might as well look them over before he comes back and flies off the handle at you."

"Is that okay? You won't get in trouble?"

She smiled for the first time. "Not if you don't snitch."

Reeve grinned. "Thank you very much."

"Don't mention it. Better get to it 'less speaking the devil's name brings him here."

"Alright, thanks, miss..."

"Desire."

"Desire. Thanks."

"Sure sure."

Reeve went back to the lobby, collected the others, and returned to the table. They all took seats and grabbed what documents where closest to them, reading and skimming the reports. It was like Desire said, handwritten or typed notes from interviews with the population and the opinions of the officers themselves. One person being mugged at night, thinking it was the killer looking for easy money. Mysterious fires at night someone swore had to be that killer roasting missing neighbors in a bonfire. A ransom note for a missing pet, signed the 'sector three killer'. Muggers; trashcan fires; malicious pranks. Dozens of reports that everyone was convinced was sign of the killer, and all the notes from the officers indicated the more likely truth. Reeve began to get an appreciation for how it was that so little progress was made.

"Hey, here's a odd one." Elena lifted a paper in her hand. "Resident sees adult chasing young man down alley, claims to have heard the pursuer shouting: tag, you're it! Time, five PM on the fourth. Sighting two blocks into sector three from sector two gate. Resident unable to provide any other information. The officer suggests they were either drunk or it was a fight."

"What do you think?" Reno asked her.

"Maybe it was the killer? No, he wouldn't just chase someone down in the middle of the day. We'd see other reports like that if it was the case."

"Well, let's keep going."

Victim eight: unidentified male, late twenties, white, 175cm, 64kg. Burns on torso and shoulders. Broken and materia healed right arm, all fingers of right arm broken and unhealed. Victim nine: unidentified male, early forties, ruddy, 190cm, 87kg. Broken nose and collarbone, sprained ankles, dislocated left shoulder. Burns on feet, chins, calves. All fingers of right arm broken and unhealed. Victim ten: unidentified female, mid-twenties, white, 160cm, 51kg. Broken spine. Burns on torso only. The sterile tone of the reports put them into a strange state of mind, disconnected from the horrors described. Number ten got off easy compared to number nine, as if breaking your back was a ticket for less torture! But you had to divest yourself from the emotional weight of these killings. If you got too involved it would just end badly, a fact that everyone could appreciate.

"Hey now, there's somethin' about these people," Cait spoke up.

"What is it?" Reeve asked.

"Well, if these physical attributes are averaged, there isn't much of a variation between them." He crossed his little arms and tilted his head. "I'd say that they're all in pretty good shape."

"How so?"

"Well, look at 'em! No kids, no old people, no one too fat or too skinny. Just the young an' healthy."

"I agree with Cait's analysis," Atma added. "The first five reports we had suggested this, and the rest of them confirm it. That narrows down potential victims significantly."

"'Cept we need to get this fucker _before_ he gets more victims," Reno insisted.

"Let's keep reading." Reeve reached out and took another thick binder. "Maybe there's more we haven't read."

Victim one located by the Blue Crow bar on queen avenue, eight AM. Victim two located by abandoned apartment, no street names, seven AM. Victim three located by Pallamecia Apartments, chocobo court, ten PM. Victim four located by abandoned storefront, no street name, eight AM. Victim five...

"Hey, check out the map," Reno said to the group.

They all looked up to the large map of sector three that was pinned to one of the corkboards. There were large pins pressed into it with names, probably the locations where the victims were found. More than that, each of those pins had a circle drawn around it in red ink, many of them overlapping one another. One of the roads was also marked out from the edge of the plate to almost sector zero, Shin-Ra's former HQ.

"What is it?" Elena asked.

"These circles," he said, brows furrowed. "Did anyone read anything about what those could mean?"

No one in the group had. He looked at the marked street. "How 'bout Yellow Bird street?"

"Yellow...wait!" Reeve barked, quickly flipping through folders and binders. "I swear that's familiar...hold on...here!" he slammed down a report on one of the killer's victims. "That's the street where Samson was working...the distance from last seen to where the body was found..."

"It's the area where the killer could have been seen!" Atma said aloud, standing in a rush. "Those circles mark what essentially is his territory."

She nearly shoved Reno aside from the map, then picked up the red pen sitting on the lip of the corkboard. She used both hands to find the northern and southernmost tips of those circles, then east and west. "Earlier we only had street intersections to work with, but this is much closer to the truth." She then uncapped the pen and drew a surprisingly accurate circle around all the smaller ones, then stood back. "This is it. We'll find the killer somewhere within this area."

Reno whistled aloud at that. "Damn. Nice work, Soldier girl!"

Atma looked back to Reeve. "I'm going to start investigating the blocks that haven't been encircled. There might be some new info out there we can use."

"Okay," he said even as she left the precinct.

Reno nodded towards the door. "I'm gonna head out, too, Reeve."

"No, I'd prefer it if you stayed and helped out."

The redhead frowned at that. "Helped out with that? I seriously doubt we're gonna find a bigger lead than _that_ in these notes!"

Reeve set his report down and looked at Reno. "It's better than nothing."

"Well it isn't like we have nothing to do! We could go out and patrol these places ourselves like Atma is! Get some real dirt from the locals, not this waste."

"There's only a few of us, Reno, and hundreds of cops!" Elena shot out. "They can look in a lot more places than we can."

"Quit preachin'."

"I'm just-"

"Give it a rest, please, you two?" Reeve begged. "Look, I have no problem reading these myself. If you two want to, you can go out and patrol the sector with Atma."

"Was about to anyway," Reno muttered. "You wanna come with, 'Lena?"

She smirked at him. "Someone's got to keep you in line."

"Oh har har."

"What about me?" Cait asked.

"You stay with me. I'll need a good analytical partner for all this."

"Analytical whatever," Cait sulked. "It's not like I'm just a data-processing machine, y'know."

Reeve bobbed his head and took another report. "I know, but you have a good head on your shoulders."

"I'd hope so!" Cait held his head with exaggerated worry. "Wouldn't want to find out that this one's got a loose screw or somethin'!"


	9. Chapter Nine

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

 **: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _They say that if a person's artery is cut open, that the blood can spray out as far as fifteen feet from the wound. That's the sort of pressure our body deals with on the inside._

 _Well, when the mind is cut open it can spray out ideas so much farther. Figuratively, of course, but how often do mere words set us off? Sometimes it's all it takes just to keep it together, to not snap and let it all go. Words from people next to you, or from across the continent by radio or television. Sometimes all it takes is a look and we fall apart. How many times a day do we bite our tongue to keep from saying something we wouldn't want to? How many times have we heard or seen someone snap and let loose? Fights can start from just that sort of thing. Wars have been fought, thousands of lives lost, for less than that. Our minds have caused innumerable disasters throughout history. Yet despite all that, people only seem to worry about themselves and never what they do to others._

 _Makes blood pressure seem pathetic by comparison._

 _-Zera_

* * *

 _ **Somewhere in Sector Two**_

"Oh come off it!"

"I said I don't-"

"And _I've_ said your a bloody idiot for not takin' business when it's right here!" she rapped her knuckle onto the coin on the counter. "Take the damn quid an' let me get a sandwich!"

"I don't serve Shin-Ra dogs anymore, lady, so kindly get the hell out."

Lari let her shoulders slump as she realized the man was really being serious. She was the only person in his cafe, more shed than actual establishment, and he was refusing her money. All the time she had noticed those signs on restaurants that said the management held the right to refuse service to whomever they please, but to actually see it being enforced? And enforced with her, a Soldier who was capable and becoming more inclined to wreck the store single-handed? And all for a _sandwich_?

"I'll ask one more time," she said with forced courtesy. "Let me buy a god-fucking-damned sandwich."

The man took a step back from the wretched counter and his right arm came up to reveal the bulky shape of a snub-nosed revolver. He aimed it at her and maintained his scowl. "I'll ask one last time too, bitch. Get the hell out."

She stared at the weapon for a whole second, more surprised than worried. Letting instinct take over, she acted. Her left arm shot out and grabbed at the weapon, a finger wedged behind the trigger to keep it from going off. She then yanked him forward, off balance, and slammed his forearm on the counter. Her right hand lifted up, bearing a stout dagger, and she plunged it down with all her strength. It stabbed through the meat of his arm behind the wrist, then out and deep into the wood below. The man screeched in agony, falling against the counter while yelling out his lungs. Lari extricated her hand and took the firearm out of his limp fingers, checking it over. It was dinged and worn, but intact looking and with six fresh bullets in the chamber. She gave it a spin, grinned as it clattered a few rotations, then whipped it home and slid it into her pants waistline. The man was still moaning in pain, keeping as still as he could as he stared at his arm. He didn't try to yank the knife out, and she figured he would be too scared to do it until the shock left and it really began to hurt. Time enough for her work.

"Don't fret yourself, then, I'll help myself."

She stepped around the counter, stood next to the man as she plucked out the ingredients from shelves and boxes. Sliced bread, lettuce, a tomato, a bottle of mustard. Into the tiny refrigerator, pulling out cheese and a bag with cuts of some sort of meat. She piled them on the counter, then fixed up a sandwich while the man swore and whined right next to her. She ate right there, wolfing it down with relish at her first meal in nearly a full day. Afterwards she took more bread out, made a few more sandwiches and wrapped them in wax paper for another time. Done, she put everything back where it came from and cleaned the knife she used on a rag. She looked at the man, seeing he was still lying helpless against the bar and weakly tugging at the dagger. An exasperated sigh escaped her lips.

"Honest to god, guy, your gonna bleed out at that rate." She grabbed the handle and pulled. It came out quickly and the man collapsed onto the floor, holding his maimed arm against his chest. "It's like pullin' off a band-aid for fuck's sake. Y'just pull it off all at once."

" _Aaahhgh_..."

"Oh for-" she bit off her words, shaking her head. "Why do I even bother."

" _Fuuuck_..."

"Yeah yeah," she muttered, stepping out from behind and out the door.

She hurried in a few seconds later, snatched up her fifty piece, and then left for good.

Lari walked slowly away and down the street, having seen that no one was around to give her trouble. This part of sector two was generally safe for normal people, but the wreckage of the slums was still prevalent everywhere; piles of broken rubble, wood and concrete and steel; homes collapsed into themselves, or buildings burnt out or half torn down; the remnants of a paved road buckled and covered in mud and dirt; a weak rain making everything filthy and wet. It was a filthy neighborhood, but everything down here was. Nowhere except those few places of power had anything resembling modern working technology and upkeep. Even after living down here for nearly four months she couldn't get used to it. Her whole life had been living on the sector two plate, living as comfortable a life as possible under Shin-Ra's thumb. Sure, she rationalized, it wasn't perfect, but it was miles better than this. Even the apartment...

"Bloody idiot!" she cursed.

The apartment was all it was about, wasn't it? After joining Soldier two years ago, she was used to her tours going through rough places. Costa del Sol was sometimes slummy outside of the resorts and this was a perfect twin to the wreckage of North Corel. The difference was she had a home to return to at the end of the month, and more often or not she had her stint with local units. Knowing that her home was gone, everything of her life from childhood to the day before Meteor, was hard enough on her. But right now, wandering homeless again after being kicked out by him? And being kicked out even after trying to make a relationship out of what they had? Being denied that new home after losing her old one?

"Bloody idiot!" she swore as a mantra.

And it has been _days_ since she last had a shower!

She rounded a corner and faced yet another ruined street, this time a few people moving with purpose to some destination. She brushed her hands along her body, reassuring herself that every stiletto, dagger, and broadsword were exactly as memory recalled. Paranoia about the crimes in Midgar, not even counting for her trained instinct, made it a reasonable habit to keep up. She had already boxed the ears of two kids that tried to lift her wallet, and each night woke to see someone disappear from view. Too often men thought her just another lonely, vulnerable woman, and not even her Mako eyes scared off some. Each day was filled with wandering the streets for food, for something to kill the time, and heads to crack. Thirsty work, too, but not that she could afford to drink each night. She pulled out her wallet and put the fifty piece in the fold, counting two other fifties and about ten in small coins. Enough for probably three days at a good inn, if any where even left. Enough realisticly to have food to eat for two weeks, but she wasn't squeamish about stealing any longer. Not that she was much to start.

She stopped walking and put the wallet back in a pocket. She sighed, then looked out into the overcast horizon and automatically sighted the direction to the apartment. Yukio's apartment. His little private universe, and she it's exile.

"God-dammit."

The anger was practically gone now. He was right, as usual, and she freaked out and called his bluff, as usual. There was no good reason why she shouldn't learn his stupid judo fighting if it meant being a better Soldier in the end. But. She laughed quietly at herself. All the 'buts' she could muster sounded stale even to her now. She knew that they both had flew off the handle that day, that Yukio was just letting his authority get to his head about being the picture pefect image of Soldier superiority. She would just relent and learn a few things, enough to coax out some apologies from him. It would be smooth from there, she knew. It's not like Sephiroth knew how to fight hand-to-hand, right? She could do just fine with her blades. Maybe she had to show him some bloody work to get the point across. It would be good to get back to some semblance of shelter anyway. Familiar people, places and luxuries. Hot water. Her bed and quilts. Farrah's cooking!

"God, a warm meal sounds good," she said to herself.

From looking at the direction she began walking there, cutting across the meager street and to an alley. Down the dark path and it opened into more tiny paths, spaces between rubble and empty homes like an urban maze. The randomness didn't bother her since she'd walked many of these paths during her time out here, so it was marginally familiar. West a little ways and down another narrow crack between walls, through the ground floor of a empty store then onto another artery of the slums. Ahead she could see the block the apartment was tucked into, a generally more well-off section of the sector. It wouldn't take any longer than ten minutes at a walk to get there. This was practically home territory anyhow, one of the patrols they took looking for rogues. She looked around automatically for anything strange.

And froze.

Resting against the brick wall by the mouth of another alley, not even thirty feet away, was another Soldier. Arms crossed to show a bulk of muscle, legs crossed and his posture relaxed. Everything about his appearance saying casual, not threatening.

His eyes, however, glowed with more than just Mako. They stared right at her with all the promises of violence a Soldier could deliver. A madness of anger, a lust of pain. The eyes of a killer for true.

But not just a killer...

"Will you let me play your game?"

 _The_ killer.

"Game," she repeated lamely.

"Or maybe my game? They're really quite similar." he stood and stretched his legs, let his arms hang loose. "Run and chase, run and chase."

"We don't play _games_ , comrade," she growled out, moving her body to stand just so. She could draw any number of blades on her person within a blink this way and still have time to think. Just because this Soldier was bulked up didn't mean he was strong. Her two worries were his demeanor and her sixth sense warning her off from this. There was a serial killer on the loose in sector three people said, and for so long she doubted anyone but a Soldier could be the cause. This Soldier had a look, his eyes seemed radiant with bloodlust. Did the killer stray this far from his territory? Run and chase, he said. Was he admitting his guilt, or daring her to pursue? The more she thought of it, the more she was certain. This had to be the serial killer.

"Oh, but I think you'll like this one," he insisted. "Yes, you look twice as different, so you'll like it for sure."

Lari twitched and her hands both held double-edged daggers, tips pointed down and forwards. She held her legs tense, ready to lunge or to anticipate one.

The Soldier laughed and gestured at her. "You see? You're ready to play already!"

She moved again, using all the efficiency she could muster. The dagger in her right hand she let go so it gently stuck in the dirt by her foot. That hand then took hold of the tip of another blade, and in one smooth motion she used her whole bodily energy to throw that knife at the Soldier. It barely spun, the weighted blade leading the way as it crossed the distance in a moment and plunged into his shoulder. He barely moved from the impact. Lari watched from her crouch as he looked at the knife, seemingly curious as to why it was there. He took it in a firm grip, yanked it out, and threw it behind him. A tiny amount of blood welled up from the cut, and Lari knew immediately the trouble she was in. As a second class Soldier she knew her body was much more resistant to injury, and blood coagulation was one way to tell. One of the lamest jokes that circulated through the ranks explained it. 'Why don't first class Soldiers bleed? 'Cause they're so heartless they ain't got any blood to spare!' That little amount blood meant only one thing.

The killer grinned. He rubbed the slot bracelet on his wrist, fingering it's lone materia. "My turn."

She leapt to the side, seeing the momentary sparkle of power at his fingers, to avoid being stuck full on by a crackling fireball. She rolled onto her feet and charged at him, both knives ready. He waved his arm and cast another blast, this time the spell hitting her full on. The pain was immense, but she bulled through it and out, not letting her momentum flag. By then she was right in his face and her hands shot out to stab, one towards the neck and the other to the gut. He twisted and contorted in a small space, evading both while able to grab her wrists. She knew the follow-through, quickly backing up to make him strain at her arms, making him exert his strength to reel her in. With a quick jump and tuck she got into the air, put both her legs against his chest, and shoved hard. The immense push of her legs and core was too great and she tore free of his hold, knocking him off balance and her twisting to land on her shoulders. Swing her legs back, keeping momentum, to complete the somersault and land crouched on the tips of her feet. Knives homed, one hand to take another throwing blade and the other to the familiar hilt of the broadsword. She flicked the knife and drew the sword, now standing ready. The killer plucked another knife from the meat of his chest and threw it behind. So far so good.

Lari took several steps forward, each one firmly planted to keep her balance. Without rearing she lashed out, sending the tip of the sword for his chest. The killer backed away, and Lari skipped ahead with a weak upper swing at his face. He again retreated and she again closed, this time with a fierce downward stroke. He had to give room a third time. Lari continued the movement, each time lashing out with greater strength and effort. The technique was ancient as swords themselves, different for each kind of blade but the same in concept. You kept yourself moving with the sword cutting back and forth, forcing your opponent to give ground or risk evading the hit. Unless they were extremely nimble or could parry the sword, you would keep them off balance until they made a mistake. The most aggressive method you could use, and Lari never permitted herself to be put on the defensive. It wasn't often she fought someone that managed to last for long against it.

But the killer kept dancing back just out of harm's reach.

Eventually Lari knew he was teasing her, so she readied herself for an all-out performance. She began moving with more graceful, sweeping strikes with the broadsword, twisting as she was lunging. As she twirled she let go her dominant hand to get a throwing knife. With momentum keeping her sword a real threat she threw the blade at the killer. It was difficult at such a close distance but the tip struck true in his hip, slicing and falling out as it scored on shallow flesh around the bone. Within that motion she plucked another knife free and continued, focusing with all her power to not miss the timing. Sword, step, momentum, dagger, throw, step. It was more choreographed than a dance, but this was the penultimate technique that Soldier had trained her to use. Anything better was the sole effort of the Soldier herself.

The killer, however, continued to back away no worse for wear.

And Lari cast her last knife, seeing it finally plunge into his lower torso and stay, blood oozing out in pulses. She made one final swipe and then relented, ending the motion to stand on the ready to attack. The killer kept moving back a few steps then stopped. He yanked out the knife and threw it away, still looking as fresh as he was at the start. She stared at him, wondering what else she could do to get him. The throwing knives obviously weren't hindering him, nor were the multiple lacerations. He hadn't used his materia at all except those two spells, and she hoped he wasn't inclined to start again. She couldn't fight a distance battle now.

 _'The pistol, y'idiot!'_

She started, remembering the revolver she took from the sandwich guy. It was still in her back waistbelt, six bullets for the using. She didn't remember the caliber, but any type was going to hurt, even for a first class. Without hesitating she reached back, took a firm hold, and drew. Quickly she lined up the sight and fired, feeling an impressive kick. The killer staggered back as a blossom of blood erupted from his chest. Lari braced herself and fired carefully, each pull of the trigger adding to the blooms on his torso. After firing the last bullet she threw the revolver away and charged, taking the sword in both hands for a lateral swing at the neck. With all those injuries he had to be stunned by now!

But she felt her charge halted as he stepped inside her swing, hands grabbing her wrists to stop her attack. Without any of the slack she expected he twisted her arms, nearly breaking her wrists and forcing her sword to slide out of her grasp. He then propelled her back and onto her rear. He casually stooped, took her sword, and threw it behind him. She snarled, hands grabbing her daggers, and launched herself at him. Without hesitation he intercepted both hands and flung her away. He picked up both her daggers and again threw the weapons behind him. She got to her feet and reached, but only her right hand found a weapon. The same knife she used for the sandwich man, a blade meant for utility and not this sort of fight. Every other blade she had was either far behind her or behind the killer, all of them out of the question for retrieval. She grit her teeth in the shock that he had literally disarmed her and seemed barely hurt for the effort. Still, she had a blade, and this time it would count!

But she did not lunge.

The killer approached her and smiled, putting his hands on his hips and tilting his head. He used a finger to gently push loose hair from before her eyes, correcting her bangs. He let his hand cup her jawline, tracing her chin and lips. Rainwater on her forehead beaded, a drop running into an unblinking eye. He took the knife from her hand and slowly, slowly put it into a loop on his belt. He resumed his appraisal of her, even rubbing his chin in a mockery of concern.

"Perhaps you should run."

Lari sagged and gasped in a full breath, the _stop_ spell released and her body free to function. Without any further prelude she bolted past him, not even looking back to see what he was going to do. She had seen the slot bracelet he wore, saw that there was no other materia on it except that _fire_ orb. But he had cast two wildly different spells, which meant one horrifying thing...

 _'One orb! Two fucking spells, one fucking orb!'_

After catching her breath she turned down an alley and began sprinting, her legs churning the filth and dirt in meter-long strides. Once out she glanced up, quickly sighted her direction and where the apartment was, then doubled her pace. Even if that Soldier wasn't the serial killer she had to let Yukio know about the danger. They couldn't let him escape from the sector, not armed with that piece of materia.

"God-dammit!"

She blasted through the rough streets, cutting down tiny alleyways and empty shells of homes. There wasn't any sign that the Soldier was chasing her, but if he was anywhere as good as his endurance meant, then he wouldn't give himself away so easily. Her only chance was to get to the others, arm everyone, and take the fight back to him. Another look up and the apartment was getting closer, but the knots of tiny buildings between her meant too much time wasted in those alleys. Gritting her teeth she sprinted full bore at one small shop and _jumped_. Her powerful legs managed to get her clear of the roof by a good margin so she hit still running. Across the wet surface and then another effort to leap onto another home, already looking ahead to the next few to take. Jumping so much would tax her, she knew, but there was no other choice. She had to get there before that killer stopped her!

And she managed that luck, taking a final leap off a two-storied ruin to the street below. She landed roughly and nearly fell over, but braced herself with her hands. She looked up to see the stunned expression on the doorman to the apartment, one of the thirds on his job.

"Lari?" he called out at her.

"Paran!" she shouted back. "Inside! Now!"

The third just stood there, more surprised at her entrance than her warning, and Lari snarled and got to her feet. No time! She rushed past him, ignored his questions, and took the stairs up three at a time. Past Cuar and Holt, no time to even look at Farrah as she cried out in surprise, and to the third floor. She thanked any god listening that Yukio was up there along with the other thirds, all of them looking back from his lecture. She took in several breaths as they took in the sight of her, disheveled and soaked.

"What's wrong?" Yukio asked.

Lari was relieved to hear him, to see that he was on top of things without words needed. "The serial killer!" she gasped out. "He's coming here!"

"How close?"

"No idea. He's a Soldier, Yukio, gotta be first class! He's got a fucking _mastered magic orb_!"

Everyone flinched at those three words. Materia, as a rule, was given out to Soldiers according to their skills and their mission. You got armed with magic for the situation, no different than any other weapon. However, some materia was classified for use only by certain people, and an even rarer few for first class alone. Summoning orbs, orbs with especially potent magics, and those with spells that were just too lethal for a novice to control. However, there were a few pieces, all of them heavily controlled, that held more than just spells. Some with the most violent of eidolons, and those with a host of spells together. Of the latter, they were called Mastered Magic Materia Orbs. They held within them a whole catalogue of magics, the lifestream they were composed of so pure that they were unequaled by anything that mankind had made. They could only be found in nature, in a rare few places. No one knew how many of them Shin-Ra had. Not even Sephiroth was permitted to use one without due cause. So for her to say that the serial killer possessed one made things frighteningly clear: the serial killer was not just Soldier, but first class, and held in that one orb a strength on par with an entire battalion.

"Who is he?" Yukio asked, cutting down the third's outcries.

She shook her head. "No bloody clue! I've never seen him before!"

"But he's Soldier? He had that orb?"

"I know a fuckin' Soldier when I see one! That bracelet had _one_ orb and he used _two_ spells! I ain't gonna lie, look!" She snarled, then threw her arms out. "He fuckin' _disarmed_ me!"

Another shock rolled through them; everyone knew her reputation for always having a blade on her person. Yukio finally moved, turned around and hurried for the armory. "Everyone on guard!" he bellowed. "Condition zero!"

Lari followed him, pushing through the mass of thirds getting their weapons to the storage room itself. She shoved Yukio over as he handed out batons and firearms, reaching up for her spare weapons. The loss of her broadsword was the worst thing possible, but knives and daggers were common to be found in the slums. She grabbed up a belt and slung it around her waist, counting four good quality blades left. Another few cheap knives for her ankle sheaths and nothing more; throwing knives and stars weren't going to slow him down, she knew that. She grabbed a baton on second thought, wanting at least one distance weapon. As she began to secure it to her waist the floor jumped, the baton falling out of her hands and to the ground. Everyone hesistated a moment, but a scream from below got them moving again. The thirds all rushed into the middle of the floor and Lari went to follow, but Yukio grabbed her arm.

"Don't be stupid!" he growled. "We work together!"

"That killer's gonna-"

Yukio didn't let her finish. "He's gonna come up here! I haven't even-"

The floor jumped more violently and a gout of flame rushed up from the stairwell. A feminine scream shook them and a person engulfed in fire rushed out from downstairs, charging ahead without thought. The thirds closest tackled the person, slapping at the fires with their shirts and hands to no avail. Lari forced herself to ignore the screams, forced her mind to ignore whom it belonged to. She banished everything else except the sight of the stairwell and the figure coming up. The killer. Still unhindered despite the wounds she gave him, still wearing that mocking half smile. Everyone stood still and waited for him to make a move, eyes all glued to that single orb in his bracelet.

"Well well, a whole group of players!" he cried, and lifted his arms to embrace them. "I didn't know I had this many fans!"

The thirds all suddenly rushed him, but the killer only gestured with his one arm.

The world vanished in pain and light.

* * *

Varik frowned at the remains of the building, blinking furiously to get the smoke and drifting dust out of his eyes. There were several reports from people in the neighboring shanties that there was a loud series of explosions nearby, and that later a fire was seen in the deep reaches of the unpopulated blocks. When he and a few of his men dashed over spoiling for a fight the emergency fire control teams had managed to extinguish the blaze. The fire chief said it was just a structure fire, that there were no explosions nor any sort of battle. The rain would've extinguished it eventually without them. Varik took it with a grain of salt, but after seeing the surrounding streets and a lack of evidence, was forced to agree. His common sense said it was an accident, that someone had let a fire get out of control, that the 'explosions' were just the sound of the building collapsing into itself. However, his officer's instinct screamed that there was more here than evidence showed. _'A fire? No one calls in fires these days.'_

He paced around the ruin, looking at the scene with open eyes and no opinions. Imagine that this was just another place, another part of the slums, that nothing strange had happened here in years. Did it seem like the usual sort of debris of better times? Did this look like an apartment that was abandoned to time, left to rot on it's own? No, it looked like a fire happened. A fire that burnt down the top floor, the third, and left the lower floors mostly alone. A fire that burned some things, but not all of them. Bits and pieces were scattered all over the street, more broken than burnt. Here a large beam, singed but violently broken at both ends. Here a still smoldering length of two-by-four. An entire door, blackened but intact. Parts of the building, he assumed, not burnt into ashes but thrown all over the place. Like someone was just throwing them off the roof. Or here because they were thrown. He looked around and grabbed one of the firemen as they walked by.

"How did this fire get started?" he asked.

The fireman shrugged. "Probably an electrical fault, or someone left a fire too close to flammables. We haven't determined how yet."

"Well, look at this." Varik pointed at the door. "It looks like this was inside the apartment, but it's all the way out here. Can a fire do that?"

He looked at it, a puzzled expression creasing his forehead. "Well..."

"I'm saying it looks like a bomb went off here! Can a fire do this? I'm being serious."

"Well we just don't know yet-"

"Oh forget it. Get outta here then."

The fireman walked off, leaving Varik to fume. He didn't know anything about building fires, but this sort of thing made the hairs on his neck stand on end. This looked like an explosion to him. Something like a homemade bomb, or even materia. A fire materia, like one the killer was reported to have. Was it possible? Fire materia, if the user was strong enough, could act the same as an explosive agent in a small area, or so it was said. If, hypothetically, a person was strong enough, he could have used it against someone and blown them away along with the third floor of this place. The chief's eyes got wide as he let the thought play out in his mind. Maybe the killer found someone too tough and had to use that fire materia as a weapon instead of torture. Maybe the person was about to escape and the killer went overboard, blew the whole top of the building away to get his man. Was he standing at the site where the killer took his victims and tortured them? Gods, did he just miss catching the bastard by only minutes?!

"Shit. Shit. Shit!" He took out his radio and dialed it over to his precinct. "This is victor charlie alpha calling! I need all available units at the sector two fire with equipment for a foot search, five block radius. There's evidence the killer may have started this, over!"

 _'This is base, message received. ETA ten minutes, over.'_

"Copy." Varik snapped the radio back to his belt and looked around at the scene. People were hurrying to and from emergency response vehicles, prodding at rubble with shovels to extinguish hot spots, talking with onlookers to see if anyone needed treatment. He eyes the few spectators warily. The killer could be one of those people, looking at him and gloating over his work, mocking him, stalking him. All it would take were a pair of sunglasses to eliminate the most telling feature of a Soldier and he could walk throughout the city like any other citizen. Was he wrong in thinking that the killer was a lunatic who hid in the streets like a monster? Was the monster among them? Was he here right now?

He gritted his teeth and turned away, ignoring the questions that begged for an answer. He didn't have the patience for that, not even the time. He only wanted to find the killer's trail and continue the chase until it ended, one way or another.

The backup he requested arrived just as the fire control team called the site secure and took off. Varik barked orders as them even as they piled out of the vans, dictating paths and alleys to follow even before he could put them down to maps. He settled into his command bus, seated at the tiny desk that supported the radio across the city, and began coordinating the search himself. As units from other precincts arrived, he gave them their orders and directed their movements without ever meeting them face to face. His writing hand rushed across the map, extending lines and adding symbols as reports came in, his mind absorbed in the expanding realm of the grid and it's logistics. By the time the first officer reached the border of his search grid he was reeling with the messages of over fifty men and women. When the last man reported in, Varik looked down at a map covered in lines and notes as complicated as ancient runes and hexes. It was nearly worthless, though. Out of the whole twenty six blocks searched, only two had evidence of a struggle. Investigators were already present, so Varik didn't need to see to them himself, but he did anyway to get the nervous energy out of his legs. The first site was a dead body, decomposed and bloated, but victim to a gunshot and not torture or burns. The second was much more incriminating.

"So..." Varik gestured at the alley, "someone tell me what the fuck happened here."

Zera stepped forward to explain. "From what I can tell, it looks like two injured people walked through here." She walked down the alley, motioning to several splotches of blood diluted on the damp concrete. "There's a moderate trail of blood leading to here, and a larger spot on the wall. It looks like someone with serious bleeding rested here for a number of seconds, then resumed walking. There's another, smaller trail of blood that follows the first. There's no larger accumulation of blood, so this person walked through without stopping. I'm guessing they were following the first person. Both lead out to the street, but we can't follow because of the mud."

"So, this _guy_ , you think he was running from his attacker?"

"I can't tell. There's two trails of blood leading out, but there are numerous footprints, so it's impossible to tell what belongs to who. Whatever the case the fight was serious. The first guy'd have to be tough as hell to have gotten away considering all this blood."

"Tough like a Soldier?"

Zera nodded. "Maybe."

"Can you tell?"

"Not without a lab analysis."

"Well, shit."

"My thoughts exactly," she held up a hand, "and before you ask, no, we don't have equipment on hand to tell much about the blood."

"Take samples anyway."

"Alright."

Varik stuffed his hands into his overcoat, staring at the scene as if some hidden message would reveal itself. A sign that two someones walked through here, one badly injured and the other moderately. Was it the evidence he needed to prove the fire was a battleground, or was this just a separate struggle completely apart of it? Just as he prepared to turn away, something on the ground caught his eye. He looked back, seeing a definite shape there, and knelt to scoop it up. In his hands, covered in wet grime, was a metal chain and a single tag. On one side was a bar code and serial number etched by a laser, and the other was a symbol that sent a tremor up his spine: the Shin-Ra company logo.

"Zera!" he shouted.

The woman looked over her shoulder from her work. "What?"

"Never mind the blood." He danged the dogtag. "It's definitely Soldier."

She frowned at the sight of it. "So should we...?"

"Pack up." He took out his radio. "All units, this is victor charlie alpha. Reconvene at coordinates...X35.2, Y39.5, southeast of the fire. There's evidence of Soldier activity, so we'll start another search grid, five block radius from here. Someone get to the truck and coordinate the radio 'till I get back, over."

Varik pocketed the radio before listening for a reply, grinning morbidly. The hunt was on again.

* * *

 _"Wake up, Lari!"_

 _Her eyes opened, pain intense and sharp. The pain was everywhere, like needles across her whole body. What happened? She was standing with Yukio, and the killer-_

 _Adrenaline roared from within and she came to, fully aware. She looked around and her mouth dropped open in shock. The whole top floor of the apartment was gone. The roof, walls, even parts of the floor were missing, and everything else was glowing like embers. The night sky was black, blacker than ink, so dark it seemed like true nothingness overhead. Yukio was standing over her and the killer was before them, hands on his hips as if impatient with the two of them. She stood slowly, forcing herself to move in spite of the crippling pain all over her body. Yukio wasn't moving. She focused on him and felt her breath rush out in shock. He was in even worse shape than her, his clothes all but burnt away and his hair shriveled to hug his head. His arms were crossed in front of his face, his hands clenched into fists._

 _"Yukio-"_

 _"Get out of here Lari."_

 _The words didn't make any sense. Leave? They had to stop the serial killer! "What do you-"_

 _"Please," he said, his voice shaking. He lowered his arms and looked back at her. She grimaced at the gruesome burns to his face, but his eyes still shone through the pain._

 _"I'm not going-"_

 _"_ Please _," he said again, his voice so desperate. He lifted a hand and cupped her face, his expression relaxed with resignation. She saw his other hand was clenched in a fist, the glow of materia shining between his fingers. Materia? He hated the stuff! Why would..._

 _His lips pressed against her's for a hot, heavy moment._

 _He stepped back, half turned towards the killer, and said: "I'm sorry."_

 _"Yukio don't you...!"_

 _He shoved her, hard. Her legs backpedaled but she felt something hit her shoulders, hit and break as she passed through. Out a window, her mind understood, but her heart was screaming as the moment passed in a slow crawl. The killer lifting his arm as if gesturing an imperial command. Yukio staring back at her, his eyes expressing all the sorrow his body couldn't. A terrible red glow pulsing from his closed fist, increasing in intensity like a nova. His mouth moving, saying something, but what? She was falling down, the room falling out of sight, everything falling away from her. The roof shrank, but the red light grew, and when she felt the agony of hitting the hard dirt street the light above her exploded._

 _Something_ other _rose from that explosion, something that roared with indescribable fury._

 _She felt her heart breaking. Shattering. Her mind took over, animal instinct rising in it's place, moving her arms and legs. Standing, now, yes, and staring at the otherworldly battle above. She wanted to help. She needed to go._

 _Her mind stumbled away from the battle and the apartment._

 _Her heart remained behind._


	10. Chapter Ten

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

 **: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _Today was a test of my resolve unlike any other. It tried my beliefs, my faith in myself and in my comrades, and in my abilities as a leader and a Soldier. It threw at me everything that a soldier fears, and nothing in my experience could have prepared me for the things I saw and did. The strange thing is that none of those events are what frightened me the most. The worst was seeing how my actions in the past made everything I am meaningless, how I already betrayed myself long before this trial arrived at my feet. When I sent her away, I broke all my promises as well. Seeing her return, pursued by that nightmare come true, it unraveled my willpower._

 _I don't know what she meant to me, even now. We didn't have much in common, didn't proclaim love to one another, didn't think of ourselves as soul mates or as a couple. We were comrades, even friends. We shared our burdens and our job, shared ourselves in bed for those nights, but nothing more. It couldn't have been enough to call it love. But when she came back, it stirred something in me I hadn't felt before. It might not have been love, but it was more than simple camaraderie, and I know I'll miss her until we meet again._

 _-Yukio_

* * *

 _ **Somewhere in Sector Two**_

Lari rested against the wall of the ruined house, legs spread across the tattered carpet. Her hair lay in wet lengths down the sides of her face and shoulders. Every breath was an agony that ran across her spine, made her lungs seize in weak gasps. Her legs were still weak, barely able to support her weight, yet somehow she had stood after that fall and shuffled away from that place. Walked as though nothing was wrong. Walked until something in her broke. She cried in great heaving sobs, kneeling in the middle of the dirt street, until some part of her took over and walked her to this tiny shack. She had passed out, then woke in near darkness of the evening. Woke to a world still broken.

Tears still fell down her cheeks.

"Why'd you do it you fuckin' bastard," she moaned. "Why'd you do it you great bloody ass..."

 _'We work together!'_

"Why..."

 _'You have to go.'_

"W-Why..."

 _'I'm sorry.'_

"Why'd you do it god damn you!" she yelled, tears fresh in her eyes.

She waited there for some time, trying to reign in her emotions and let her body rest. She didn't think she'd broken anything, but she knew that her body was badly burned. Her arms were welted with blisters, many of them broken and leaking blood. Worst of all was a headache and nausea, bad enough that it could very well be a concussion. She didn't have anything that could help it, so there was little choice about what to do. She'd have to move on, find some first aid or even a materia to speed her recovery along. There was no sense in staying there any longer. Slowly, gingerly, she stood up and walked outside. The night was dark, only just illuminated by the moon above the cover of clouds and meager rain. Her eyes adjusted quick enough to see properly, to notice the movement. It was enough to tell that there were people in the street and alley where she came from. When recognition struck her, she sighed in defeat.

She didn't expect to see a police van and an entire company of officers.

They reacted to her appearance almost immediately, and they quickly took cover and raised their weapons to fire. Lari lifted her arms outwards, ignoring the pain the best she could, and opened her mouth to tell them she wasn't going to attack. Hurt as she was, even her pride and her anger weren't enough to overcome logic. A sob made her hiccup, her voice suddenly gone. They waited and shouted for her surrender, not moved by her gestures. They shone torches into her face, making her squint. After nearly a minute of yelling, the policemen approached slowly, never lowering their firearms as they circled and closed the noose to trap her in place.

"Get on your knees!" one man demanded.

Lari nodded, slowly obeying as to not hurt herself further.

"Hands on your head!"

She did as ordered.

The speaker holstered his gun in favor of handcuffs, and he walked behind her and grabbed an arm and twisted it behind her back. Lari bit her tongue to stop from crying out, but when he yanked her other arm down the pain was too much to hold in. Her cry sounded pathetic, but didn't elict any mercy from the policeman. They quickly confiscated all her blades, patting her down roughly for anything else. One of the men even fondled her breasts but she was too weak to care.

"Get up!" The arresting officer pulled her up when she didn't move fast enough, earning another pained groan. "Get up!"

Lari tried to do as they asked, but her strength was falling away from her. She couldn't do much more than whimper as she was marched to a van and thrown inside like so much dead weight. A man and woman stepped inside after her, sitting on the opposing bench that she lay on. The man looked at something in his hand, then down at her like some caged animal. When she met his glare, it only made him frown. That didn't concern her as much as his dead gray eyes.

"Soldier, right?" he said evenly. "Answer me."

"Y-Yes." Lari barely choked the word out.

"You look pretty banged up, bitch."

"Varik, I should-" The woman leaned closer, but the man snapped an arm out to stop her. "She's _hurt_."

"I know." He reached into his coat and took out a slot bracelet, a single orb snapped into it like a prize diamond. "See this? I could heal your injuries with this, make the pain go away. You want that, right?"

" _Yes,_ " Lari said, eyes glued to the orb.

"You answer a few questions and I'll do that, okay?" He leaned closer to her. "Like who the serial killer is."

The question didn't make sense to her. "W-What?"

"The serial murderer who's been killing people for the past three weeks. He's Soldier, just like you. Where is he?"

"I don't-"

The officer grabbed her arm suddenly and dragged her to an upright position. Lari yelped out in pain, unable to stop herself her limb was in such agony. He put the bracelet in front of her face, taunting her with it and the relief it meant. "Don't lie to me you little bitch. You're both Soldiers, so you look out for one another, so you know where he's hiding. Now tell me!"

"I don't know-"

He slapped her backhanded, knocking her back down across the metal bench. He stood in the confines of the van and dragged her back up, put his face right against hers. "Where the fuck is he?!"

The woman officer stood, placing a hand on Varik's shoulder. "Varik, don't-"

He looked back only long enough to glare at her, his expression enough to make her back down. "Shut up, Zera!" His attention returned to Lari. "Answer me, dammit!"

"I-"

He pounded her against the wall of the van, her head bouncing off the metal. "Where is he?!"

When she didn't reply he rammed her against the wall of the van over and over, each time spitting out the question like a mantra. For nearly a minute he shook her and screamed, face red and neck taught. She tried to answer, realizing who he meant, but the officer was shaking her so hard she couldn't catch her breath. Suddenly he let her go and wrapped his hands around her neck, constricting her throat until it was almost impossible to breathe. Lari tried to fight him off, but her arms could only paw at him like a child. He squeezed harder for a defining moment, eyes burning with the proof that he wasn't bluffing with his threat. He held her there until she met his eyes.

"Where is he?" the officer asked for the last time.

" _He fought us_!" Lari had to scream to get the words past her mouth.

He let off only slightly. "What?"

"He fought my comrades!"

"Your comrades?" he parroted.

"Yes!" she wheezed out, tears running down her cheeks once more. "Followed me...to the apartment," she continued between shallow breaths, "killed everyone! Even Farrah!"

"Wait, did he burn your apartment down?"

"Yes!" she gasped.

He finally relented and let her go. She nearly fell forward but the officer shoved her back up, his hand pinning her by her sternum. "Why did he do it?"

"He..." She took a deep breath but couldn't catch it. "He was going to kill me. Like he did the others. I ran back to the apartment. To Yukio." She wheezed in a breath between each phrase. "I thought we could fight. Fight together. But he burned everything, and Yukio fought him alone. Told me to go. Threw me out a window."

"And did he blow the apartment up?"

"No, he... _summoned_."

The officer actually gasped. "S-Summoned!? Which monster was it? Tell me!"

" _I-Ifrit_..."

He was quiet for several seconds, wide eyed, and Lari spent them trying to catch her breath. It felt like her lungs were barely working, her whole face was hot and stuffy. She glanced at the female officer and started, seeing her almost to the point of tears herself. Before she could think about it the man grabbed her jaw and directed her sight back to his. All his anger was gone, replaced with a grim stoicism.

"You're positive it was the killer."

"Yeah."

"That he was a Soldier?"

"Yeah."

"And this Yukio summoned _Ifrit_ to fight him?"

"Yeah."

"Did he win?"

"Don't know. I escaped...while they fought."

"Do you think he won?"

"I..." She wanted to believe it so badly, that he would have won out and come for her, but her mind couldn't see how. "I don't think so."

The officer finally released her and sat back down. Lari kept gasping for air, wheezing violently. Spots danced in her eyes, her whole body felt like it was numb and on fire again. The officer looked at the woman and talked to her, but her reply got him shouting and gesticulating wildly. She could barely hear anything they said, as if someone had plugged her ears with cotton. After a long shouting match the woman stormed out of the van with tears in her eyes. The officer took a radio from his belt and spoke into it, then stood and grabbed her by the arm and dragged her outside. He threw her down to the concrete street and stood there as she curled in pain, watching her shake like some twisted voyeur. He spoke to her, she knew because his mouth moved, but couldn't hear a word of it. He smiled, clearly amused with something, then turned away and left her there. She looked out and saw the other officers all leaving the place, the van going into gear and driving off. In less than a minute they abandoned her.

Lari screamed, then, and broke down completely. She lay there, alone in the night, and cried until exhaustion won her over and she slipped into oblivion.

* * *

"Why the fuck did you leave her there?!" Zera demanded of her superior as they drove for the precinct.

"Because she's Soldier and worth shit," he replied nonchalantly.

"But she's still human!"

"Not to me she isn't."

"You motherfucking-"

"Zera, don't go there," Varik warned her. "No one is to go back there to help her. No one. Let her comrades save her if they care."

Zera wiped fresh tears from her eyes, feeling so hurt at his malice. "You're a bastard, Varik. A real fucking bastard."

"Yes I am." He pounded his hand on the van wall. "How much farther?"

"Four blocks, chief," the driver replied.

He grunted in affirmation, sitting back down. He looked at Zera, noting how she was trying so desperately to hold herself in check and failing. This wasn't like her at all. She was more by the book than most of the other officers he worked with, but he never saw her react this badly to an interrogation. Was it because that Soldier was a woman? He didn't want to think Zera's private life was bleeding into her job, but it was a possibility.

"Why do you feel sympathy for a monster like that?" he finally asked.

"She wasn't a monster!" she snapped.

"No, just a bloodthirsty Soldier who's probably killed more innocents than our serial killer. Funny how they sound the same, though."

"You can't know that!"

"No, but I can make a pretty good guess."

"God _damn_ you, Varik, you're just as bad as him!" she snarled, hands chenched in fists in her lap. "You can't just treat innocent people like that!"

"Who said anything about Soldiers being innocent, huh?" he snorted in distain at her accusations. "Besides, I don't kill innocent people, only shitheels who deserve it."

"And who made you judge, jury, and executioner?"

He grinned. "I did."

Zera looked away from him, not even bothering to hide her tears. Varik rolled his eyes, wondering how long he'd have to put up with it. But what upset him more was that the Soldier said that her and a whole bunch of her friends had tried to stop the killer and failed. That her leader, even with _Ifrit_ on his side, wouldn't have beaten him. It made him think, to consider the dark truths that were rising up from there. The serial killer was a confirmed Soldier. Not just a Soldier, but one strong enough to take on a squad of others and come out on top. There weren't any bodies found in the wrecked apartment, so it could mean that the killer incinerated them all and walked off. It was frightening to admit. Either that her Yukio and _Ifrit_ blew away the serial killer, or the killer blew them all away instead. A weakling or a monster, and the sour feeling in his stomach told him the truth of which it was.

* * *

 _ **Pretty Birdy Bar and Grill**_

The Pretty Birdy was as crowded and boisterous as it was the first time that Reeve was there. He was thankful for the positive energy that the patrons and the environment exuded. After a full day of reviewing notes and reports at the sector police headquarters, he craved anything that would take his mind off the horrors of the serial killings. Rude's return didn't do much to help his mood, either; he wasn't able to convince anyone to return with him. Reno, not needing an excuse to start an evening of drinking, offered to take him and the others out to the restaurant on him, flashing a thick wad of gil. He accepted, of course, as did Elena and Rude, but Atma declined and said she was going to continue her investigation into the killer's territory. He ordered a bottle of expensive Gongagan whiskey to start and had been serving them round after round with intent to initiate Reeve into their drinking circle. By the time they had gotten around to ordering appetizers, each of them were well on their way to inebriation.

"Another round!" Reno said cheerily, interrupting himself from his train of though storytelling.

"Dude, we just had one five minutes ago," Reeve argued, "can't you wait?"

"Nope. Besides, you're gonna get sloshed before the night's done if you wanna be part of our little group, reaver boy. A good leader's gotta be sociable with his teammates, right?"

Reeve shrugged after a second. "I s'pose."

"No supposin', Reeve! It's a rule!"

"Alright, fine, another round, why not," he whined, shaking his head in dismay.

"That's the idea! No sense in only gettin' halfway tipsy, better t' go all the way!" Reno poured them all two fingers apiece, then lifted his shotglass. "Yo Rude, your turn."

"To friends and sanity," Rude said carefully after a moment of consideration, "so we never forget how normal people live."

"To friends!" they repeated, tossing the liquor back.

"So how you feelin', Reeve?" the redhead asked, seemingly unaffected by his fourth drink.

"Doing alright. A little drunk, but alright." Reeve reached out and took a swig of soda water, expecting to be scolded again for being weak. Reno didn't call him on it.

"So, that's a what? Five out of ten? Six?" he pressed.

"Seven's more like it. Why?"

"Gotta see how much liquor you can hold. _Duh_. 'Lena and Rude both can't match me shot for shot, so I wanna know how far you'll make it."

Reeve shook his head in horror. "Oh man, I don't think I can take much more."

"We'll see. Oh, missie!" Reno leaned out as a waitress passed by, getting her attention. "You still got any coconut rum?"

"I think so, sir."

"Bring a bottle 'round, then. Either that or some Shirido." He took out a fifty bill and slid it into her skirt pocket with a lewd grin. "An' here's a little something for your trouble."

"Why rum?" Elena asked.

"'Cause we're almost out of whiskey, girlie, and I don't wanna end up dry so soon."

"No, I mean why _rum_?" she emphasized. "Why not this stuff?"

"Hell, you know why. Gotta expand your horizons 'n all. Besides, I'm in the mood for somethin' sweeter."

"Oh."

Reno laughed at her flat answer. "Jeez, 'Lena, you must be sloshed already."

"I'm fine."

"Sure you are."

"Said I'm _fine_ , Reno," she insisted, taking up the bottle. "Let's have another."

" _Another_?" Reeve said exasperated.

"Yes, another." She waggled a finger at Reno intently. "I swear, one of these days I'm gonna find a way to get him smashed fer once instead of the other way around."

The redhead sat up at that. "Izzat a challenge I hear?"

"Maybe." Elena hesitated a moment, and her lips curled to a racy grin. "Yeah! Yeah, why not?"

Reno looked almost pained from how wide he smiled and laughed. "A contest! Hot damn, girlie, it's been a long ass time since someone's tried t' put me under!"

"Then let's get started! Rude, you wanna try?" He waved a hand at the offered bottle. Elena didn't miss a beat in offering it to Reeve. "How 'bout you, Reeve?"

"Oh no, I couldn't-"

"Yeah you could," she teased.

"No way I could! No thanks, I mean, I'm already at my limit, an', well, aren't we gonna order somethin' to eat?"

Both Reno and Elena looked at him with wide eyes, surprised. Reeve felt a blush color his cheeks, wondering if he'd either said something wrong or if they forgot about ordering food as well. The redhead took the bottle from Elena's hand and poured three fingers into Reeve's shotglass and scooted it towards him. "Drink."

"Dude, I've already-"

"Drink!" Reno repeated jovially. "It's all the nutrition you'll get tonight!"

"Ugh." He grimaced and took the shot in two gulps, winced as it roared into in his gut. "Oh man..."

Reno grinned, then returned to the business of his contest with Elena. "Alrighty then, now here's mine, and here's yours, and let's drink to health and good looks!"

"To health!"

The two Turks both slugged their shots in one motion, and after Reno continued on with his nonsense rambling about past missions and adventures. When the waitress returned with the promised bottle of rum he paid her again with a fifty and opened that bottle for his use against Elena. Once their appetizers arrived the rest of the evening was spent snacking while talking and pausing as the two would psyche themselves up for their shots. The crowd in the eatery dwindled as the night wore on, eventually down to the barflys and the hustle of the barhops to clean the floor. Soon the bar emptied out, and only they remained inside as the place closed down for the night. The manager himself came and wished them a good evening as they made their way out. He even offered them a room at a local hostel he was buddies with, but they explained they were close enough to home anyways but thank you very much though. The struck out into the streets for sector three, oblivious to the world with only themselves as company.

Reno and Elena were both falling down drunk. They had matched themselves shot for shot until the whiskey and rum were both gone and neither had the capacity to order more. Reeve was glad that they didn't, it was hard work to help Elena stay on her feet as they walked to their apartment. He was still dizzy from when he first stood up, and thinking hard to recall the last time he had been this drunk. Clearly what he thought of as drunk was just tipsy compared to how these two handled their liquor.

"I still say I won," Reno said again, taking each step carefully without help.

"It was a _tie_ ," Elena slurred again.

"You both win," Reeve commented again. "I've never seen two people drink that much."

"S'pretty much normal, I think, yeah. Right, Rude?"

"Nearly," the stoic man replied from his side. "You both had more than usual."

"'Cause you didn't have nearly enough!" Reno chided his comrade. "Had t' make up the difference atop a' the contest."

"It would have been tough for Reeve to carry all of us home."

"Well he could'a...oh! No, no he couldn't've. No taxis. Sorry, guy."

"That's alright," Rude and Reeve both said.

Reno patted Rude's shoulder lightly. "Next time you'll drink, 'kay? Next time."

"Next time."

"Yo 'Lena!" he blurted out. "How you doin' over there?"

Elena barely turned her head to look at Reno, concentrating more on moving a foot at a time with an arm slumped over Reeve's shoulder. "Said I'm fine, Reno."

"What about you, reaver boy?"

He nodded. "I'm fine too."

"Feelin' good?" he pressed. "Still feelin' sociable like I said you oughta be?"

The architect chuckled. "Yeah. It's been a while since I've been drunk this...had this drunk...ergh." He giggled and shook his head, grinning. "Shit, you know..."

The redhead smiled wide as the moon as he laughed. "Ahahaha! Say no more, say no more!"


	11. Chapter Eleven

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

 **: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _Sometimes I wonder. Yep, even a robot can get philosophical. A little._

 _I wonder about a lotta things, things I don't really understand. All of them are about people, about humans, about things that are_ alive _. I'm one of Shin-Ra's most clever little inventions if I say so myself, built an' programmed to be as close to human as possible. But still, there's so much that my programming can't understand that it makes me wonder how smart I really am. Well, I AM smart. I can do anything a computer can. Still, sometimes the humans I'm with throw my programming for a loop. Like why Reno wants to be disoriented, slow his reactions, inhibit his morals and damage his liver with alcohol. Why Rude keeps inhaling carcinogens when he's gotta know it's harmful to his lungs. Why Elena always maintains a negative relationship with Reno when she really wants a positive one. Why Atma bottles up her pain no matter what, why Reeve never stands up for himself unless pushed into a corner. I can't really experience any of those feelings, so I can't really know._

 _But I can be happy! I've been angry and sad, made jokes, been severe. If I could have, I would've cried when Aeris died._

 _I understand their emotions, but I just don't_ understand _._

 _Really, the Stop-Break process to end 'em all._

 _-Cait Sith_

* * *

 _ **Delikatessen**_

The eatery was slower than usual due to the actual rain after days of preceding sprinkles, but Reeve and the others still took their corner booth and talked in lowered voices. This time the silence was punctuated by the outrageous hangovers that Reno and Elena sported, neither of them feeling well even with a hair of the dog and several aspirins before leaving the apartment. They ate well, however, even with their self-described sour stomachs and poor appetites. Reeve was more sore from crashing on their beat-down couch overnight. He was in no shape to walk across half of Midgar to his own apartment after that night out.

"If I had some fuckin' sicktime, man," Reno muttered.

"Quit whining," Elena spat at him angrily. "God, that's all you've done since you got up."

"Well forgive me, blondie, but this headache is killin' me."

"So is mine, but you don't hear me complaining."

"Come on you two," Reeve pleaded. He wasn't hungover, but today their bickering was somehow just as bad as one. "You argue worse than siblings. Why do you always nitpick each other? You've known each other for a long time, so...why?"

"She needs to quit bein' a bitch about my habits," Reno said plainly.

"He needs his ego deflated," Elena said in the same.

Reeve sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Oh god."

The redhead waved it off. "Look, it's nothin' personal most of the time. She's always complaining, I'm never serious, and Rude keeps to himself. It's just how we are."

"But friends don't argue this much!"

"We do."

"But-"

"But nothin'." Reno leaned forward, resting a forearm on the tabletop. "Look Reeve, have you ever seen me or 'Lena _really_ pissed off at each other? No, no you haven't, and it's 'cause we know when to shut up and let it die. Sure we fight, but it's all in good humor. Ain't that right, 'Lena?"

"Good humor?" Elena eyed him sharply. "Aggravating is more like it."

Reno glanced at her and smiled. "See?"

He stared at them, then looked at Rude to see if he had a more rational outlook. The Turk bobbed his head, exhaling a lungful of smoke from his cigarette. "All relationships are based on mutual emotions, both good and bad. Theirs is more...prone to extremes."

"Yeah," Reno agreed quickly, "what he said."

"Uh-huh." He thought about how a relationship could ever stay intact if they swung so much between happiness and violence. He had never argued with a friend so much or so often. Still, he knew there were many relationships out there that only held on because of fear and violence. Was theirs the same? Did they only really stay with one another because of their time together as Turks? He glanced at them as they resumed eating. He didn't know much about them, honestly. Was it that their abrasive attitudes to one another was just how they got along? Or was it something deeper?

"It's 'cause we're Turks," Reno said between a mouthful of eggs, seemingly reading Reeve's thoughts. He swallowed them and took a drink of coffee. "That's another thing I meant to say. Once you're a Turk, they're your family. You gotta trust them with your life every day, so...hell, that explains it all, really. You don't just trust someone 'less you're close to them. We bicker because family's bicker, and that's what we are." He looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. "Damn, that was _way_ too sappy."

"So you think we're a family?" Elena inquired quietly.

Reno glanced at her with his usual smirk. "What would _you_ call it, then?"

Her face lit up bright red at the question. "Um, well-"

He laughed at her expression. "Don't get all flustered, 'Lena, I didn't really expect an answer."

"Alright."

"I just mean that we'd have to be family to put up with this much shit."

"Well, if you didn't start it-"

"Like hell I always start it-"

"Quit it already!" Reeve implored. He glanced at his wristwatch and at the door. "I wonder where Atma is. She's never this late."

"Maybe our Soldier girl is at the precinct already," Cait Sith speculated.

"I don't know. Normally she would call me if she was there."

"She could be busy with some lead. If you're worried, let's head on over."

"I guess we could."

"Speakin' of that," Reno continued, "Rude, why didn't that guy come back with you?"

"He was not willing to part with his wife, nor did he want to bring her here. They both have forsworn killing, even for the greater good. I couldn't convince him otherwise."

"And no one else wanted to come?"

"I could not find anyone else." He frowned, remarkable for his usual stoic expressions. "I explained all this last night, you know."

"Yeah, well, funny how the drink can make you forget little details like that."

"Then why do you drink all the time?" Cait added in.

Reno glared at the toysaurus. "'Cause it's the only thing to take the edge off, kitty Cait, so stuff it."

Cait merely shrugged. "Whatever you say, Red."

Reno mumbled words under his breath, then pushed his plate back. "Whatever. If we're all gonna be business-like then let's get going."

* * *

The interior of the police precinct was humming with activity. Officers were all agossip if not moving with haste, phones busy and the atmosphere electric with intent. The five of them hesitated by the entrance in surprise, wondering what got them into such a frenzy. The front desk secretary was tersely talking to someone on a phone, free hand scratching out notes on a thick notepad. The noise and action felt like a living thing in the building.

"Something's got them in a tizzy," Cait commented idly.

Reeve nodded in agreement, continuing inside with his eyes peeled for Varik. The police chief was in the middle of the floor as usual, but coordinating information and papers on a _second_ corkboard to the left of the first. It was a map of sectors two and three center stage with even more circles and colored pins marring the surface. Folders and whole separated binders were piled on the central table, open with their records torn out and organized in some sort of chaotic order. Varik himself was no longer dressed in his business casual but bundled in body armor and combat attire. The chief didn't even acknowledge their presence until he turned back to get more documents. He jumped, hesitated a moment, then took a deep breath and exhaled loudly.

"Son of a bitch, Reeve."

"Sorry."

"Forget it." He turned away and began adding notes to the board. A few seconds later he looked back, then jumped again when he noticed Cait and his Mog with them. "Holy shit, you've got...what the hell _is_ that thing with you?!"

"Cait Sith's the name, officer!" he said brightly, offering a gloved paw.

Varik's expression remained flat. "A talking...cat," he drew out.

"What, you gotta problem with it?"

The chief finally looked back at Reeve with a pleading expression. "Did Domino give you orders to collect some freak show instead of a team, Reeve?"

"Cait Sith is a member of the team, Varik. He might not look like it, but he's a combat machine through and through."

Varik rubbed his temples and turned back to the board. "I shouldn't be surprised, I really shouldn't."

"By the way, is Atma here?" the architech asked.

"No. Why, she's not with you?" He glanced back to see for himself, shrugged, and placed another pin on a minor intersection of streets. "Haven't seen her."

"She didn't call in?"

"I just said as much."

Reeve felt a nervous heat tinge his face, wondering why the Soldier hadn't contacted them at all today. It was unlike her to just disappear without leaving her whereabouts. He took out his phone and dialed her number, but there was no response and no voicemail center to leave a message in. He hung up and tried again, still getting nothing. He closed the phone and put it back into his coat pocket, trying to keep the little fears from rising about what could have happened to her.

"Look, since you're here, we gotta talk." Varik stepped away from the second board, planting a finger on the map somewhere in sector two. "Turns out that the serial killer is a bigger risk than we thought."

"Bigger?" he parroted.

The chief nodded. He turned and sifted through the contents of the table for a certain folder. "Yep. You heard about that fire in sector two? No, doesn't matter if you did, it wasn't just a random fire, it was started by the killer and a bunch of Soldiers." He pulled the right folder out and offered it to the architect. "Details about the fire since you'll bitch 'till you get them."

Reeve took the folder but Reno spoke up before he did. "So what's so special about this fire?"

"It wasn't a fire. It was an explosion caused when of those Soldiers summoned _Ifrit_ to fight the killer."

That made the Turk take notice. "What!?"

The chief nodded. "One of the Soldiers escaped and we interrogated her in the field. She said that the serial killer was chasing her, like he was going to kidnap her as his next victim. Said she managed to get to her home where a bunch of her friends were shacked up, tried to fight the killer all at once. The killer used his fire materia to trash them, and her commander _summoned_ to buy her time to escape."

"Wait wait, hold on!" Reno barked, holding up a hand. "You said the serial killer took out a group of Soldiers? _And Ifrit_? On his own?"

Varik's expression remained grim as he replied. "Yes."

The redhead nearly staggered off balance, his eyes growing distant in a thousand-yard stare.

"The informant confirmed that he was a Soldier. Confirmed, in her opinion, that he was strong enough to not be troubled by their efforts. You know what that means."

"First class, fuck me." Reno began cracking his knuckles absently. "First class. First fucking class!"

"Reno-"

"Shut up!" the redhead yelled, looking at everyone with panic in his eyes. "Dammit, don't any of you understand what that means? People like _Sephiroth_ were first class! You think any of us here could've taken him on!?"

"Cloud and the others managed to," Reeve answered calmly. "Cait was part of their team."

"Oh yeah, like that little kid's toy made a difference I bet!"

"Well it's-"

"Well it's not gonna be enough!" he snapped. "Do you know what it takes to beat a fuckin' _eidolon_? You gotta have a fuckin' _army batallion_ to fight off something like that!"

"Calm down Reno-"

"Shut it blondie!"

"Hey-"

"Quit it-"

"All of you shut up!" Varik roared, stepping between them all to give them each a momentary glare. He let his gaze linger on Reno. A malicious grin suddenly split his features. He even laughed once. "So this is how the legendary _Turks_ handle a challenge?"

The redhead's body quaked in restraint, but his Mako eyes seemed ready to jump out of their sockets. "You don't know the first thing if you think a first class Soldier is just a _challenge_ , Varik!"

"I would encourage you all to think before speaking again," said another voice.

Everyone looked over to see another man approaching them, walking with all the inbred hauteur of a man used to his authority being obeyed. They all recognized Wikker by that attitude alone, if not his bulky frame and height. The sector police commander lent an intimidating presence to the group, an equal to the Turks and police chief. He took slow and deliberative steps until he stood within their circle, eyes raised to meet any challenging faces. Eventually they focused onto Varik with the intent of predator at prey.

"Captain." He hesitated, a frown creasing his lips as he eyed Reno and the others. "...Turks. I could expect there to be a greater degree of unity here."

"Great dangers give rise to great passions, sir." Varik said, the excuse rolling smoothly from his mouth. "We apologize."

"Accepted on one condition, Captain." He reached into his coat and produced a crisp paper folded in thirds. He offered it to the chief, then began speaking to the others it's contents in his unhurried cadence. "This is a new directive from mayor Adagio. On condition of garnering more trust with the leaders of Junon Harbor, there will be an immediate cessation of open hostilities towards neutral Soldiers in this city. Rumors of your...overzealous campaign against them has reached Junon's ears. Contractors are threatening to retract their assistance if this action is not implemented with all due haste. Mayor Adagio has made it clear that there is to be no bias against those formerly employed by the Shin-Ra corporation. Our recovery efforts will be severely waylaid if this promise is not soon carried out in _action_ rather than words."

"Sir, we have been following procedure since this was-"

Wikker only had to turn towards the police chief to silence him, such was his presence. "Did I not just say that your _words_ are no longer enough, Varik?"

"All our prisoners here have been given their rights according to the law!"

"This I will not doubt. Of those you deal with who do _not_ become prisoners, well, this is the issue at hand."

The chief caught himself before he spoke up.

"Resources are slim, too slim to permit the waste of trained and experienced officers." He crossed his arms, his coat rasping over his shoulders. "Still, there is a limit to how many corners can be shaved before the sharp definitions of law are too smooth to be defined. I have not tolerated this witch-hunt before, Varik, and now with the mayor leaning upon me, I will lean ever harder on you. You will _end_ your killings _this moment_ , or I will ensure that each and every petty violation you are guilty of will _drown_ you. Is this understood?"

Varik, his face ashen, could only nod weakly.

The commander turned and faced the Turks as a group. He looked them over, seemingly confused over who to address. He eventually settled onto the tallest of them, Rude. "How has your operation fared?"

"Despite the considerable hurdles we have faced, we have made progress." Rude didn't have to say anything, but the implication made Varik sweat. "The serial killer's territory has been generalized to a section of sector three that composes thirty one blocks from the Shin-Ra tower to the halfway mark between it and the outer slum barrier to the plains. There are five locations with multiple overlapping rings of activity that will be locations worth inspecting."

"This is your official statement?"

"Not yet. This is our assessment we agreed upon, made last night. Our current visit here was to inform the police chief of this. Depending on any new information, I assumed this would be enough to finally broach a wide-scale investigation into the aforementioned locations."

"Captain, does this information run congruent to your own insights?"

Varik had to clear his throat before speaking. "Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"I think there are two locations more probable to search instead of five, but we can look at those too."

"Show me."

The chief hurried over to the corkboard, pointing to the place on the map he did before. "Here. Five of the radii that the victims lives took up coincide here."

Wikker rubbed his jaw pensively. "An isolated intersection?"

"Yes. There's no pattern to where the victim's are found, but our best guess is that he travels this intersection most often of any other. If we're gonna find him, it's gonna be here."

"This is your assessment, Turk?"

"Yes." Rude replied.

"Then the decision will be made." He turned around to face everyone, finding a willing audience among them and the other officers listening in. "Captain Varik, Turks and others, this is my order as Commander of the sector police! It is time. If the serial killer has been tracked down to these neighborhoods, then they shall be searched in full. You will bring all available resources to the field for this operation. You will deputize any volunteers willing to perform the lesser duties as needed, and will aquire any firearms as possible to provide for the common defense. You will bring into the field every vehicle of use than can be spared. An official statement from the mayor will inform the public of this operation. Sector three will be _shut down entirely_. The sector police will enter the sector en masse and will not return until the serial killer is brought down like the animal he is!"

* * *

 _ **Somewhere in Sector Three**_

Atma lay motionless on the ledge of the building, watching with aquiline eyes the alley where the person had walked down. The rain provided her all the cover she needed, even if it also meant that she couldn't depend on sound for tracking her suspect. The person she had targeted was carrying a naked body over one shoulder, walking with the patience and authority of someone either permitted this task or so used to it that he feared no reprisal. He had stopped in that alley and looked down either way, then continued across and disappeared from view. It had been nearly twenty minutes since then, and she expected his return soon. If anything could be gleaned from the reports and notes the police compiled, it was that this killer operated in a pattern suited to predators, and was likely to take familiar routes to and from his residence and territory. She mentally cataloged her weaponry: a dagger at the waistline and a chisakatana over one shoulder for blades. Two pistols in holsters beneath each arm, and one of the semiautomatic rifles from her collection on a shoulder strap, plus a second belt of ammunition across her chest. She had no materia, a few lengths of medical tape and bandages for lacerations and other hurts. It was a meager defense, but a calculated balance between offensive power and speed for a pursuit. She anticipated a chase through these streets before the fight itself.

It was ten minutes more before this same person came walking back down the alley without the body. Atma willed herself to remain still as he approached the intersection, only her hand tightening around the grip of the rifle. He looked down either way, then looked up and held his gaze, seemingly staring right at her despite the downfall of rain. The seconds wore on as he and she continued to look at one another, waiting for some sign of recognition. Just as Atma was deciding to take the initiative, the man smiled wide.

"You must be a predator!" he called out.

She swung the rifle forward and got her elbows beneath her torso, lining up the shot in less than a second before squeezing off a round. The killer ducked to his left and crouched, fouling her aim and sending the bullet into the mud. He sprung away from the spot, heading down the street and towards more alleys and escape routes. Atma didn't waste the time to prepare another shot, knowing she didn't have the time to waste sniping him. Instead she launched herself off the rooftop and into open air. She curled when she hit the ground fifteen feet below, rolling only once before getting to her feet with the rifle shouldered and aimed. She fired the gun at his center of mass, once, twice and thrice, each round hitting him squarely in his retreat. Taking a moment to judge his reactions it was clear he wasn't wounded severely, the small calibur rounds were too ineffective to harm him. Atma discarded the semi-auto and gave chase, hands throwing away the spare magazines she brought to lighten her load. She took her forty-five caliber pistol from it's holster and chambered the first round, then pumped her arms to try and narrow the gap between them.

The killer chose an alley and ducked into it, Atma following at a wide turn so he couldn't get within her firing arc. She saw him fidgeting with something at his wrist, and she skidded to a brisk walk and began firing her gun to delay him from using the materia she was certain he had just slotted. Even as he lifted a hand and cast the spell, a brightening of his aura around his temples a giveaway, she continued pulling the trigger. Flames, bright and intense despite the rain, roared out like an explosion all around her. Her clothes smoldered and her skin reddened where exposed, but her pacing brought her out of the fire and out of immediate danger just a moment later. The killer hesitated, legs torn between holding ground or to flee, and Atma used that mistake to adjust her aim for his head and fire the last two rounds of the clip. The killer recoiled back, hands halfway up to cover his face before stopping. She ejected the magazine and homed in another, then holstered the firearm and drew out her chisakatana and charged.

She struck from on high, the blade flashing down and connecting with the killer's forearm, missing his fingers but hitting muscle and bone. Blood gushed from the injury, spattering on the dirt and on clothing. Blade at her waist, she adjusted her hold and prepared to slash at his stomach. His hand, however, lunged out and grabbed at her wrist, yanking down to incapacitate her arm. The killer reared forward and headbutted her, foreheads meeting with an audible thump between. He then twisted her arm and forced the sword out of her hand, used his injured limb to deliver a weak chop to the throat. It was enough to distract her for a moment, and he took advantage of this to use his good arm in a palm heel strike across her jaw. She stumbled, disoriented, and the killer quickly focused on his materia and looked at his ruined arm, willing the spirit to mend the damage and make it whole. The spell rose from his body and infused his skin, knitting cells together and connecting broken muscles. By the time it was done his hand tingled, but was movable, and she was also recovering and reaching for a weapon.

Atma fired the drawn pistol rapidly, each round striking the killer's torso and shoulders as he charged at her. When she saw he was putting all his weight into the motion, that even forty-fives weren't good enough, she ducked and lowered her head. He slammed into her shoulder and she stood as quick, threading her head between his legs and completing the throw. The killer landed harshly on his face, but forced his legs up and onwards, letting gravity twist his body so he landed on his back with his limbs free to move. He grabbed both her legs and yanked hard, sprawling her to the muddy earth. He lunged forward to place himself over her body, legs pinning her legs. Her hand flashed out from beneath her body, and he twisted to avoid being shot again by the brandished weapon. He used his legs and arms to pin her to the ground in a stalemate hold, his greater weight the only force acting on her. She squirmed in his hold, unable to find an opening. He moved his head to lay next to hers and spoke.

"You are _exquisite_ , comrade."

Silence.

The killer leaned closer and took her ear in his teeth, nibbling on the skin. He hummed in satisfaction, not unlike a purring cat. "Do you want to die?"

More silence.

He released the lobe and lay there, thinking. Her efforts to escape continued, legs jumping around in contest with his own, her arms twisting to get free and turn on him. He could disable her easily enough, but didn't. The one eye facing him kept it's gaze locked on his face, unwavering and unafraid. It was a familiar look. She was just like him when sociable rigors were put aside, a predator willing to go to any length for the kill. This was what he wanted, had been looking for since he walked away from the barracks. A _challenge_. Predictable, he mused, that it would come from someone in the same project as himself. If anyone could appreciate the means and methods of his desire, it would be a fellow Soldier. But would she understand? Would she _survive_ to understand? There was only one way to tell.

He released her arms.

Immediately she twisted her arm back and fired the pistol that hadn't fallen from her grip. The bullet grazed his skull, and the later rounds ruffled his hair in passing. She quickly changed strategy and put her hands beneath her, and then pushed up and kicked out with her legs. She slid out from underneath him and rolled forward, free hand snatching up her chisakatana, body twisting in a circle to add momentum to a hasty horizontal slash to buy time. She secured the pistol and again took the sword in both hands and went on the offensive. The killer ducked around one downward stroke, and he jumped aside at the returning upward. He tried to force himself into her defense, but she was able to thread the blade into his path to stop the advance. She backed away and held herself in a defensive pose, glaring beneath sopping wet strands of platinum hair. The killer saw his advantage and took it. He snapped his hand up and cast a quick fire spell, concentrated at her face and shoulders. The flames were brief and no more damaging than a blast of hot air, but it was enough to blind her a moment to his position, and he charged forward to attack. He grabbed her wrist and twisted, sword clattering away again. He leaned back and spun, throwing her out of the alley proper and into the street. He grabbed up the fallen weapon and brandished it with impaling intent, closing the gap.

She drew her reserve pistol, a fifty caliber magnum revolver, and held it in both hands and braced herself in the slick the best she could. She fired it at the joining spot between neck and collarbone, seeing blood burst from the wound. She fired the remaining five bullets at him, each round compounding the damage as he forced himself to keep his hands away from that crippling assault. Empty, she dropped the gun in exchange for her dagger and charged. He tried to slash at her, but he was too inexperienced with that sort of weapon, and she was able to twist away from the downward attack. Her hand darted out and stabbed into his meaty chest, skidding along the ribs and doing only flesh damage. She danced back at his second attempt, this time able to draw a ragged cut across his belly. As he raised his arm for another attack, she leaned in and drove her dagger to the hilt just beneath the sternum.

Blood rushed from the strike, an obvious tell of a mortal wound. The killer dropped the sword and his hands clamped onto her shoulders like vices. His head lurched down and butted against hers with such ferocity that it sent stars through her vision. He reared back and repeated the attack, over and over, until her disorientation became absolute and her legs fell out from beneath her. He let her go and she fell into the mud with a splash, remaining still.

The killer left the dagger in place and instead prepared a healing spell of the highest order, knowing he had little time before he would pass out himself. With careful timing he drew out the weapon and cast, hoping the blood loss would be minimal. The green light from the orb shone so bright it was like a personal sun at his wrist, and the following effects were almost beyond comprehension. His cuts and wounds sealed themselves, leaving nothing but scabs behind. All the bullets that lodged themselves into flesh and bone migrated to the surface and fell out like so many droplet of water. Even the clotted blood beneath his skin faded away before they could form bruises. The killer felt his wounds as mere afterthoughts, but the exhaustion from casting the spell replaced the pain and crippled him just as well. He dropped onto his knees, leaning on his hands and gasping for air, exhausted more than words could describe.

For several minutes he kept still, catching his breath and letting his body recover from the strain of that spell. It was truly something that common people would call a miracle, but he knew better in both lore and the cost to his body, so he rested to recover from the exertion. The woman lay like a doll despite the rain, eyes open but looking at nothing. He watched her breathe, and emotions of all sorts drifted through his mind. She was a worthy opponent, a compact and nightmarish warrior, a tender looking thing wanting for pity. An atypical woman. A _beautiful_ atypical woman. What better a thing to gaze upon than an equal?

" _She's perfect_ ," he muttered absently.

Once he was recovered enough he crawled to her side and patted her down, removing her weapons and adding them to his own pockets. He slid a hand down her shirt for the chain, found it between the warmth of her breasts, and took it out to see who she was. The barcode was familiar: a home unit, and second class ranking to boot. He smiled at the thought. She was an equal match for any first class out there, probably even some of his own brethren, and yet she was numberless. Perhaps she was chosen for her excellence but could not withstand the augmentation. Left to rot in the common rank and file. A _failure_. It didn't matter, though, not when this fight proved her true worth. He dropped the tag and wiped his lank hair from his eyes, then slid his arms beneath her and lifted her into a fireman's carry. He began the walk back to his shelter, not caring how long it would take. His smile grew until it was stretched across his face.

This one would _definitely_ make it.


	12. Chapter Twelve

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

 **: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _This mission has been difficult; It always has been, always will be, and will only get easier once the hard work is done. There are so few people of strength left, the balance so skewered that it makes us insignificant. But there must be people out there who are strong, shackled by society's laws and their own mindless obedience, only needing a push in the right direction to start walking the correct path. I won't submit that only we are worthy. There must be potential out there, potential to be harvested just as we were all those years ago. I will not rest until I have sorted them out, even if everyone else opposes me, even if my own brothers and sisters oppose me! Those who are predators and those who are prey must be given their righteous place in this world regardless of who they once were. The one law must be brought to light for that goal!_

 _I have my mission, and I will follow it until the end._

 _-Soldier M1-102099J_

* * *

 _ **Somewhere in Sector Three**_

The vans pulled into the abandoned intersection without care for stealth or speed, circling slowly so that each street had a vehicle blocking it for both cover and obstacle. The doors in the vans opened and unleashed a horde of sector police in combat gear, men and women flooding outwards to assume a defensive ring for the following arrivals. A larger truck appeared a scant minute later and stopped in the middle, the rooftop covered in antennas and other electronic equipment. The back doors opened, but none of the occupants left their seats at the communication chairs except one man. This man gesticulated wildly as he barked orders, directing his command around to better protect their flanks and to provide a wider range of view down the lonely avenues and empty homes. The buildings around them had only one floor, ensuring no one could take higher ground to attack or even observe them without risk, but he still posted men up there to provide eyes for the rooftops farther out. Higher apartments or businesses were everywhere, but the trade off for security to long-range exposure was considered and accepted. The officers didn't expect to defend their mobile headquarters from an organized attack, but they all agreed not to take that chance considering their opponent's training and talents.

Ten minutes after the site was declared secure, vans and trucks from other precincts arrived and expelled more police and equipment. This included tents and portable shelters, medical staff and an ambulance, even a salvaged barbecue-on-wheels bus to provide cooked meals rather than rations. As men and women arrived, the police vans and officers advanced down the streets, expanding their territory to make room for everyone inside their protective cover. Within the hour the intersection and two hundred feet of each avenue belonged in the care of the sector police, one hundred and thirty officers and twenty five non-combat personnel strong. Radio chatter was fierce, being channeled through the communication truck to three precincts for timely responses, plus a secure line to city hall and the mayor himself. At oh-nine-hundred hours, Varik requested his sergeants and other ranking officers to the communication truck so he could make a statement. He lifted his head up, exposing his face to the rain from beneath a boonie hat, and looked at his men. Each of them shared the same bitter and determined expression he bore. Even the Turks and Reeve at the rear looked ready for this.

"Alright! I've had it up to _here_ with this bastard thinking he can run this fucking show! If he thinks he can kill innocent lives without consequence, then he'd better fucking think twice! We're gonna carry it back to him and give back ten times what he dishes out!" He lifted a hand to cut their chatter and get their eyes. "We all know about this serial killer, and he knows about us! We're gonna scour this fucking sector brick by brick, flush him out, and crucify the bastard so there's no mistake! We will not tolerate this shit any longer! It's time for every Soldier and psycho out there to hear the message loud and clear! _Surrender or die_!"

The officers present applauded and cheered, roused by the simple words. Varik seemed to glow with pride and vitality at their response.

"Alright! It's time! Let Operation Housecall begin! _Go go go_!"

The officers all darted away to their commands, shouting orders to their subordinates to rally and proceed to their designated zones. Varik wanted desperately to go out with them, but he had to remain here to coordinate their efforts; at times like these he regretted accepting the command of the sector police and the complimentary desk job. He turned back to the communication truck and stepped inside, shaking his coat and hat out. He assumed leadership of the board, donned a headset and mike, and faced an expanded map of the blocks they were searching, waiting for the first reports to come in. The next hours were going to be the longest he had ever lived.

* * *

"Well, this is fine weather," Reno groused. "Couldn't wait for a sunny day, huh? Had to make his fuckin' speech in the middle of a god-damn rainstorm."

"Shut up, Reno."

"Polly wanna cracker, girlie?"

"Hey-"

"-Is for horses, 'Lena, so be quiet. I'm sick to death of your bitching, so give it a rest, huh?"

"As soon as you quit complaining all the time," she retorted immediately.

Reno opened his mouth to spit back another insult, but he hesitated. He clamped his jaw shut and turned away, hands in pockets and eyes off in the distance. Elena shook her head and sighed, running fingers through her wet bangs to get them out of her face. Watching them passively, Rude flicked at his cigarette and took another pull, hoping the two of them would remember their profession and act like Turks when it came down to the moment. Reeve stood silent with his arms crossed, Cait Sith standing next to him without a care for the rain that matted it's fur. He among them all was the most worried, wondering if he could be of any help at all when the alert came. Even with direct control over Cait, he still knew the toysaurus wasn't build for a straight fight, and that against the killer it may not prove much use at all. Even memories of his many battles alongside Avalanche weren't able to salve his fear. He wasn't a fighter, never had been and never would be; but, despite this, he still tried to help in whatever measure he could. He couldn't put to rest the fear of what would happen when they found the killer. Varik had coldly told them that _they_ would be the ones to fight the killer, sparing his own men from the dangers. He said that if anyone was qualified to fight a psychotic madman, it was a Turk.

"Yo Reeve, any particular reason you want us standin' out here catching our death of a cold?" Reno asked.

Reeve looked at the redhead, silent. Why were they still standing here after Varik dismissed them, he thought?

"You know what? Never mind," he continued before Reeve could answer. "I'm goin' to see if this gig has any coffee. You comin', Rude?"

"Sure."

"Might as well," Elena added, falling in with the two men.

Reeve took a breath and followed, trying to keep his nerves in check. Atma was still not answering her phone, and no one seemed to know where she was. They needed her here, and he worried that something had happened to her. He wanted to see if she was alright, but he was needed here more, and he could only pray that she would arrive. Even with the Turks, the best of Shinra's best, he didn't feel safe enough.

Then again, so long as the serial killer was on the run, no one was truly safe.

* * *

 _ **Unknown Location, Sector Three**_

The emptiness of her dreamscape changed slightly, losing it's luster for something more sharply defined. She recognized reality beneath her eyelids, but kept reign of her body and stopped before she would betray her awakening. With eyes closed, she focused on her other senses to try and approximate her environment. Her clothing was damp, but not sopping, so she had been sheltered from the rain for an hour at best, a handful of minutes at worst. There was no wind, no scent save that of mud, blood, and moisture in the air. She was laying flat on her back, hands curled against her hips and feet pointed at angles, meaning someone had put her here without worry to restraint. There was no sound in this place except for rain, louder by her left ear, possibly by a door or window left open. In the few seconds she spent working out these variables, she determined that she was potentially safe from harm, and risked opening her eyes. They bolted open and scanned the room, mechanically seeking any target to identify.

She was in an empty room, bare walls and floor, one doorway for an entrance and one window to the outside with another building opposite. There were no shadows to determine time or location, no danger to her person. Atma allowed herself to take in a deep breath, letting her muscles tell the story of her injuries. Her ribs felt fine, but moving her eyes brought out a terrible ache in her skull, a possible sign of ocular hemorrhaging or even a concussion; recalling the fight she had with the killer, it was entirely possible that was the case. She closed her eyes again and listened, hoping for some sound that would tell her where the killer was, but the white noise of the rain made it impossible.

Deciding to take the initiative, she moved her arms and legs slowly until she was in a sitting position, able to look herself over properly. Her wrists were sore but unbruised, as were several other places on her arms and legs. The lack of injury made her curious, knowing full well that she had to have some proof of the fight on her body. She touched herself where she remembered pain, but only felt residual soreness as if from exercise. It was like nothing had happened to her. The idea made her worry, that somehow she had recovered from a vicious fight and couldn't recall how. Putting that concern aside, she looked around for any sort of clue as to how she got here. Her eyes noted something embedded in the doorframe, something metallic. It was a dagger, _her_ dagger, hammered into the wood like a nail. Atma pressed her lips together in concern.

She stood and a wave of dizziness washed over her, but she willed herself still and waited for it to pass. Confident that she was able to move, she approached the door and yanked the dagger out of the frame. She habitually reached to tuck it into her belt, but the leather sheath was missing. A quick check told that her weapon belt was missing along with all her spare tools. She contemplated the blade in her hand, deciding to keep it there in case the killer was nearby. She leaned against the wall and checked the hallway outside the room, seeing nothing but a door to her left and a stairwell to the right. Something caught her eye at the stairs, something sticking upright from the top of the flight. She took slow and careful steps, keeping aware of traps, and went up the nine steps until she stood in front of her chisakatana. Atma took the meaning clear enough from there: the killer wanted to fight, marking the way to his battlefield with her weapons and the tease of generosity.

She grabbed the weapon and gently wiggled it back and forth, working it loose from the wood until it was free. Holding it in her right hand and dagger reversed in the other, she walked up seven more flights of stairs until she came to a doorway on the roof, four floors above the earth. The door itself was missing, exposing the world outside to her eyes. She stepped out slowly, looking around to see if the killer was intent on an ambush. There was no one out there, only a commanding view of Midgar and the sectors, the rain, and her own overcharged senses. She turned around and looked back at the entryway, checking to see if the killer had somehow shadowed her up here. Peripheral vision noted an oddity atop the tiny stairwell, and when she looked up, focused onto the killer himself. Atma froze, surprised.

"Hello again," he said happily.

She took a few steps back, readying herself for anything he might do.

"You must know I was sincere back then. You are _exemplary_ , a _marvel_."

Atma decided that he chose that spot so that he could ramble without being interrupted. It only made her more defensive, wondering what sort of a speech she would endure before he came down to continue their fight.

"Soldier, second class." He snorted loudly. "An insult. You are worthy of much more than that. You deserve better. Why did _they_ reject you?"

The silence stretched on and on, the killer waiting for the response to that question. Atma knew exactly what _they_ referred to. It wasn't hard to recall the experiments that they played with her body and mind, hoping to make a union with her flesh and that of the Ancient. All that came of her suffering and month long fugue was a series of reports listing failures, instabilities, and condemnation from superiors who viewed this as a personal insult. Worst of it was the feeling of a hole that she had never been able to fill in her soul. Something had changed inside her that day, something that she couldn't pin down but felt as obvious as a scar. Now and then, when her past seemed just a moment from the present, she almost believed that something inside her had broke during that month. Something that was broken and desperate to be healed. Disgust would always drive those thoughts away, but this time they wouldn't; being confronted with her failure by another Soldier somehow seemed better than it had before. She focused on his eyes and saw a great patience and understanding in them, a kindred spirit that told her that he wasn't asking this to judge her, but to understand, comrade to comrade.

"I was..." she hesitated, afraid to say the next word. She steeled herself to admit what she never had before. "I was incompatible. I-"

"Did _not_ fail!" the killer barked before she could utter another word. His arms trembled as he continued, eyes lit by a fevered glint. "Never! Failure has _never_ cursed you. I know. _I know_! No one like you could ever lose! Your spirit is too strong by far to be restrained by that! They - he - thought to label you? To label me?! He never understood what we were, not in the slightest!" He lifted up his right hand, letting her see the knuckles and tendons and the absence. "Numberless, you and I, as if it were a disease! At least that's what he tried to convince us to think! But we know the _truth_. We know where we stand in the hierarchy of things. We are the predators who kill the weak, lords over the battlefield and judges of their fates!" He threw his arms out in his passion, eyes wide and mouth agape. "We are the gods chosen to rule over the masses! We are Soldier! We are more than human, we are their betters! We are destined to be the rulers of a new planet!" He took a moment to breathe, looking at her with a pleading expression. "You understand, don't you?"

She didn't. Even with all the differences she saw between herself and regular people, she never thought of herself as anything but human. Did this killer think that they were actually superior to humans? That their bodies and training made them somehow more? It was ridiculous! She may be different than everyone, but she was still a human being! There was nothing in her beliefs that said she was above humankind. She was stronger, more focused, but not a superior being. What was the killer getting at? Did he think that Soldiers were like gods compared to regular people? That thought made her feel uneasy. She was a warrior, but that didn't mean she was a separate being from the next person. There wasn't anything that implied she was inherently better than them.

"We aren't more than humans. We may be stronger, more disciplined, but we aren't a superior species," Atma replied carefully.

"Yet we are _despised_ for what we are!"

Despised? Only some Soldiers were actually hated, but only because they bullied and abused people. Those Soldiers who picked fights with others or lorded over everyone else were the exception, not the rule. "You misunderstand. We're despised because some of us prey on the weak, and that makes them hate us as a whole. They fear our power, and envy it for themselves."

The killer smiled wider. "As it should be. As is their position on this earth, and ours to stand above! You know this, comrade. The Code says that we have authority to do what we will with civilians. We are the arbiters of the law, the judges, the enforcers, the rulers of the masses! We are the ones who separate the wheat from the chaff, the strong from the weak, the worthy from the condemned! We are the _standard_ , and all who fail it deserve to be crushed underfoot!"

"No."

The killer flinched at that single word, his expression suddenly curious. "No?"

"No," Atma repeated. She had to explain herself, explain what she was thinking. "You say that the strong are meant to dominate the weak, that it's their place and ours. That is a lie. The strong are meant to aid the weak, to become their strength so that both benefit. We are charged to protect the people, both strong and weak. The Code states that explicitly. We co-exist so humanity will flourish. Divided we fall, together we rise. _That_ is the truth."

"No. No no no!" The killer tottered, face twisted in some horrible expression of horror and pain. "You can't...it's wrong! That's everything that we have to fight! If predators and prey mingle, they...neither will be...we would...!"

"Cease to be," she said, the final nail into the coffin of his argument.

" _NOOO_!" he screamed, leaping from his podium.

Atma ducked to her side, sword flashing up into the killer's path. Unable to dodge, the killer swatted the sword away with one arm and suffered the razor bite that bit to the bone. He rolled forward and twisted, turning to face her while urgently growling the mantras to his materia, casting the magic to heal. She stepped forward and struck out, sword leaping to impale itself into his chest, but he slid to the side and watched the weapon slide harmlessly between arm and torso. He leaned forward only slightly, hoping to get within the arc of her sword, but the dagger in her other hand snapped up and warded him off. He stepped back as she lashed at him, then further as she applied both dagger and sword together in a wall of mythril to keep him from even approaching. The woman was furious in her action, even more urgent than the fight in the street, and this made the killer even happier to have found such a prize. Breaking this one to the truth would be the ultimate pleasure! He clenched his hand and summoned up another spell, casting it with a flick of the wrist.

"Freeze!" he shouted.

Instead of a blast of fire the air grew impossibly still and became something entirely other than ice, encasing the woman completely. It shattered a moment later, unsupported by his power and left in a hostile environment, but the effects were immediate and pleasing. The woman was stunned still, chips of ice lining her skin and the hems of her clothing, eyes wide in shock. The killer stepped forward and backhanded her, waited for instinct to right her position, then drove his fist forward and punched her clean in the nose. She stumbled but recovered her defenses, the pain enough to knock her free of the magical shock. The killer retreated a step and waited to see her reaction. Blood ran down her lips and her chin, dribbling to the ground and running slickly down her neck, but it seemed of no more consequence than a papercut. He snarled at her, fury unstoppered from his soul and flowing freely in his heart.

" _Why_?!" he demanded.

The word was loaded with so many questions, each of them burning in Atma's mind as she held herself defensively. Why start Soldier? Why twist people's minds? Why transform their bodies? Why allow them free reign to kill and be killed, to act as mindless animals in the heat of the moment? Why reject your existence? Why call this your existence at all if you hate it so? Why defend humans when you are so much more? Why despise the Code while embodying it? _Why hate Soldier and be Soldier_? They pried at her logic, broke down barriers and clashed against her beliefs. It felt as thought to answer that question was to lay her soul bare and be forced to see her hypocrisies and choose, once and for all, whether to believe her lies or the truth she internalized the day she became a Soldier. The killer stood still, eyes burning with judgement as he waited for her response, eager to understand or to condemn. She looked hard at herself, at the life she led and the things she accepted as being her lot. That question that Reeve had asked her those weeks ago floated up from memory.

 _'Why don't you? No one said you have to stay calm all the time...you aren't in Soldier any more.'_

 _'Was it all wrong?'_ she asked herself. _'Is it wrong to live this way? Have I been just as ignorant? No. I've merely deceived myself all this time...lied to myself to survive in Soldier, to justify murder. I've used that title to hide my crimes. But using Soldier as an excuse is wrong! I can't...I can't ignore the Code's flaws anymore! I have to stop hiding under the Soldier name and take responsibility for what I've done! I have to atone, or I'll become just like him! I'll become nothing more than a Soldier, a heartless weapon! I don't want that. I don't want to be a weapon. I want to...I want to...!'_

"We were wrongly made," she finally replied, her voice cracking with sudden emotion. Tears, so shocking, welled and ran down her cheeks. "They killed us. They killed us and remade us into weapons! But the Soldier program is dead. We have to start our lives over! We have to forget about who we are and remember who we once were!"

" _Never_! Only the strong have the right to live!" he gestured widely with his hands. "We are Soldier forevermore! You can't just ignore your nature, you must thrive in it!"

"Then I reject my nature!" Atma snapped back. She stood erect and lowered her chisakatana and dagger, daring him to act, glaring through his eyes and into his soul. "I'm not like you. I'm not a weapon! I won't delude myself any longer! My name is Delita Atma! No more and no less."

"De-li-ta," the killer cooed, losing a little of his anger for a lovesick stare. "We are two sides of a coin, I think. I love you as much as I hate you, Delita. Why does it have to be like this?"

"Because love and hate," she answered, "are the two sides of that same coin."

"Then let's flip it and see how it falls!"

The killer charged, and Atma ducked between his grasping arms and drove her dagger into his chest, all the inertia needed to kill provided by his reckless attack. He gasped in pain but closed his arms around her in a crushing bearhug, driving the wind from her lungs and trapping her arms. She twisted to get free but could not, not even enough to move her wrists. With a surge of strength he squeezed and she gasped in agony, feeling like her spine was going to snap in half. Her hands opened by their own accord and her sword fell with a clatter. He lifted her off her feet and leaned his head down, forehead touching her scalp as he vied for her attention. She only looked up as a cough racked his body and blood issued from the back of his throat, telling of a pierced lung. She met his eyes and saw defeat in them, despair and angst and regret that was more shocking than anything yet. He began dragging the both of them to the right, slowly and methodically closer to the end of the rooftop. She looked to the edge of the building and back at him, and she knew instantly what he intended to do. The recognition in her eyes sparked a horrible laugh from the killer, a bubbling gurgle that barely passed his lips. He smiled widely, revealing blood-stained teeth.

"I won't let you go," he swore in shallow breaths. "You are _mine_. We'll hunt one another...in eternity."

With that, he leaned over the edge and they both fell into open air.

* * *

 _ **Sector Police Staging Ground, Sector Three**_

The interior of the bus was crowded, officers seeking refuge from the rain and something hot to warm their bodies. It had been two hours since the first team left to begin searching the nearby blocks and to establish a solid line of observation, ensuring that no one came or went without being seen. Reports had been constant, but nothing came of them save evidence of civilians and paranoid terrors over rats and innocent sounds. The tension, already high strung, had snapped time after time as fights and shouting matches rattled through the base. The bus seemed the safest place to be, occupants more concerned about hunger than tempers. However, in the rear of the bus, Reno and Elena made up for everyone else with their endless complaints.

Reno set his coffee mug loudly onto the tiny table separating him from his blonde counterpart. "'Lena, I gotta ask this, so don't take it personally, but why the fuck are you bein' the biggest bitch this side of sanity?"

"What the hell do you mean by that?!" Elena demanded.

The redhead glared at her. "You know what I mean. Before Meteor you were just another ditzy blonde, all eager to please and fallin' head over heels with half the men in the Turks. Now you're just bitchy and mopey and shit. What. The. Hell?"

"Damn it, Reno-"

"Just answer me already!"

"It's...well..." She felt heat running up her cheeks. She looked around the small sitting area of the barbecue bus. Everyone was busy resting or talking, but ears could hear, and all of them had at least one aimed at her and their conversation. She growled and stood up. "Let's go outside."

"Why?"

"Just do it, Reno. Please."

He looked at her oddly, but shrugged. "Alright."

The two walked down the tiny aisle, past Reeve and Rude and other officers, and back into the steady rain. Elena walked towards the end of the bus, looking around to make sure no other people were too close to eavesdrop. Satisfied, she stopped and turned back to face Reno, the redhead displeased to be back in the weather.

"Make it-"

"I'm worried about you, alright!" she blurted before he could continue. "We all had our problems after Meteor, but you've just been...I dunno, distracted or something. You never concentrate on work and you never make jokes or pranks unless your drunk and you always want to get smashed every night. You're never happy about _anything_! You never even told me where you were after Meteor hit." She stopped a moment to control herself, looking at him and hoping she was making sense. "What happened to you?"

"You first," he insisted.

"No, you talk. This is all your fault."

He lifted his hands in mock defense. "My fault? Hold on-"

"Yes, yours!" she pressed him. "I complain because I want to know what's wrong with you, and you always ignore me! I'm scared that you're hiding something from me and it's hurting you."

"Everyone's got their secrets, 'Lena."

"Not us, Reno. We're Turks, we don't have secrets between each other." Her hand reached out for him, but she hesitated and pulled it back to her chest. "Don't you trust me?"

"This ain't somethin' to discuss."

"So there _is_ something. Won't you tell me, friend to friend?"

That got his attention. He looked at her with an arched eyebrow. "Friend?"

"Yeah. I'd like to think we're friends by now."

He snorted in humor. "You must have a weird definition of friends, 'Lena."

"Stop, Reno," she said, hand finally stretching to bridge the distance between them. She saw how he flinched as she took his shoulder. "Just stop."

"'Lena-"

" _No_. No more sarcasm, no more jokes! Can't...god, can't we just _talk_? Does it always have to be a fight between us?"

For once, Reno didn't snap back any insult or witty comment. Instead he returned her gaze with a confused expression on his face. Elena held back her fear, knowing that this was treading into unknown ground for the both of them and that this wasn't the time to screw it up. Her hand slid from his shoulder and returned to her side. She stood as still as she could, ignoring the rain that slid into her eyes, waiting for something to happen. Seconds passed as they looked at one another before Reno sighed, shoulders sagging and his head lilting.

"You really wanna know?" he asked calmly.

She replied without hesitation. "Yes."

He bobbed his head absently. "Alright. You know we were evacuating the tower when that fuckin' Meteor hit. Well, shit, you know what we went through tryin' to save everyone, 'cept we didn't know what to do when the lifestream showed up. I was in sector one when it fell. God-damn, it felt like the world was gonna end, but I managed. It was hell, Elena, I swear up and down that's what hell's gonna look like for me. I didn't know what to do, so I just started walking. That's when I found her."

"Her?" Elena inquired.

Reno lifted a hand to silence her, continuing. "Yeah, her. Raine Soto, little Rainy.

"I was looking through homes for anyone who survived, but there were just bodies. It was in one of those ritzy apartments in the circle that I found her. She was hurt bad, both legs broke an' all cut up, but she fuckin' _smiled_ when I found her, like everything was fine. Told me her life story while I tried to patch her up. Girl wasn't even seven yet, birthday just three weeks away. She told me about her friends and her dolls and jokes and insisted I call her Rainy like her friends did. She kept askin' about her mom and pop, but they were both dead, they had to be. I just told her they were lookin' for help, that I was gonna look after her." He snorted at the absurdity of it. "She _believed_ me. I burned myself out using materia, splinted her legs, tied up her cuts. I even kissed her boo-boo forehead. She needed a hospital, but I didn't even know how to get outta the god-damn plate. I told her I had to go, gave her my cure orb and told her to hold it tight and pray to get better. I ran as hard as I could, screaming my lungs out for help, but no one was around. I went back when night came, told her that we were gonna spend the night here and leave in the morning. We ate cold canned soup for dinner. I even read her a fuckin' bedtime story."

He paused in his monologue, holding himself in check. He clenched his eyes shut and opened them with a hard expression. "She was dead when I woke up." He shook his head. "Dead. Even after I did everything I could, she just died, like nothing I did meant a god-damn thing."

Elena tried to control her expression, but she still wept as Reno went on talking. He chuckled, trying just as hard to stay in control of his emotions. "That did it. It was the straw that broke the chocobo's back. The one time I try to do somethin' right, I get fucked over. I took her and walked all the way to the plains, buried her with my bare hands in the dead earth. I lied about my phone, 'Lena. I buried it with her and my ID. If bein' a Turk wasn't good enough to save a little kid, then fuck it, I'd do without. I just hung around the city and drank myself to sleep every night, tryin' to forget about her, about everything I fucked up. I was...I was gonna leave for good except you found me. You showed up like some sorta angel outta heaven singin' hallelujah, plucked me up outta my hole, and...well, here we are."

Elena stepped forward and grabbed him in a fierce hug, and he returned the gesture just as quickly. His voice cracked when he talked. "Damn it, 'Lena, I _tried_! I tried to save her!"

"I know," she cooed. "I know you did."

"'Lena, I-"

"Hey!"

The voice cut across the rain like a knife, and the two of them leapt apart and turned to face the speaker. Reeve was standing there, face lit in surprise and confusion.

"Hey what?" Reno asked, voice free at the grief he confessed to seconds ago.

"They found him!" Rude continued, jumping out of the bus with his shades pushed up on his nose. "One of the spotters see him on an apartment roof with a woman with silver hair."

"It's gotta be our Soldier girl!" Cait Sith added in, riding atop his mog. "I'd bet my megaphone it's her! Come on you two, get the lead out!"

"Hold on, something's happening," Reeve said, hand bearing a radio headset to his ear. "The killer charged Atma, he's got her in a hold...they're moving...they're...oh my god."

"What is it?" Elena asked.

Reeve lowered the radio, face ashen and horror stricken. "They fell. He fell and took Atma with him..."

That statement made each of them freeze, the moment dragging on as they tried to take in that horrible thought. Even the rain seemed to pause.

"Reno!" someone barked.

Said redhead looked and saw Rude aimed at the apartment, his head turned back to look at him. Out of anyone here, Rude was the only one who had put aside the horror of the event for the cold necessity of work. He seemed more a Turk in that instant than any other time Reno could remember. He drew out his electrorod and snapped it open, then nodded. The two of them began running to the scene, and only then did Elena and Reeve break out of their trances to follow, Cait in tow.

The buildings around the apartment marked were mostly in ruins, collapsed into themselves and out into alleys and the narrow streets. The group had plenty of obstacles to negotiate, but none of it slowed their frantic pace. Sector police nearby seeemed stationary compared to them, as many were, unwilling to chance an encounter with the serial killer. Their presence dwindled as they neared the height of the apartment that Atma fell from, disappearing altogether when they bolted down a mud-churned street and into a similar alley. They slowed down as one, each of them ready with their weapon of choice. It was dark in the cut of the structure, not helped at all by the gloom of clouds or the rainfall. Rude led them inside, taking every deliberate step with caution, his hands lifted in readiness for any response. The progress was slow until his foot met with something that wasn't broken mortar or mud. He knelt and felt the obstruction, shocked when his calloused hands brushed over wet skin.

"Light," he ordered.

Someone brought out a flashlight and shone the torch down, wobbling until it snapped onto the features of a face bloody and bruised. There was a collective intake of breath, and fear and panic crackled like static between them.

For familiar amethyst eyes were staring back, and they weren't moving.

"More fans..."

Everyone started at the gravelly voice, the flashlight whipping up to show a man resting against a wall further down. He was clutching his stomach and taking shallow breaths, but his eyes were still in focus. The Turks all stared at him, finally seeing the serial killer they had stalked for so many days. The killer grinned but he suddenly coughed, blood creeping down the corners of his mouth. Once the coughs settled he looked at them again, a grim expression on his face.

"You're the one." said Reeve, finally breaking the silence. "You're the serial killer, aren't you?"

The killer's lips twitched up for a moment at the recognition. "That's all you people ever see, isn't it?"

"Who are-"

"Don't bother," Rude interrupted, lifting a hand. "He is a murderer. He doesn't deserve recognition."

"Don't I?" the killer asked, shifting his body to better face them. "You think so little of me?"

"You are a wild animal that needs to be put down," was his answer. "You ceased to be anything else the moment you took an innocent life."

The killer chuckled at the description. "Innocence. I forgot that people still believe in that."

"Sounds like a fitting epitaph if I ever heard one," Reno said, shoving his way forward, electrorod aimed ahead. "Time to die, asshole."

"Reno, we need-"

"Don't you...!"

The killer lifted his arm and aimed his hand at them, energy cracking down his fingers to cast. A sudden wind kicked up and became a hurricane in an instant, the force so severe that it knocked Reeve and the Turks into the air and flung them out of the alley. The killer heaved himself to his feet, a hand bracing himself against the wall. He slowly stepped out of the alley and into the open street as the Turks scrambled to their feet. Reeve's attention was torn between the killer and Atma, the former Soldier still unconscious.

"I don't want Delita involved in this," the killer said, loud enough for them to hear. "One of you get her somewhere safe."

"Delita?" Reno said. "Y'mean Atma?"

"Yes," the killer confirmed, his eyes scanning them until they fell onto Reeve. "You. Get her away from here."

"And why the hell should he?" Reno asked.

"He's right," Elena said. "You saw her, she needs medical attention right now! Get her out of here, Reeve."

"But what about you guys?" he asked.

Elena grinned at his question, her expression dark with malice. "We get to do what we do best."

"Besides, isn't that why you brought me here in the first place?" Cait piped up. "So I could kick his ass for 'ya?"

"The cat's right for once," Reno drawled. "Get our Soldier girl to safety, Reeve. We got this."

Reeve pressed his lips together in a grim line. They were right, of course, but some part of him felt like he had to be there to help, however little it would mean. Ignoring his bruises he knelt and lifted Atma up by her shoulders and legs. Everyone was watching him, even the serial killer. Why he wanted her gone was a mystery, but he wasn't going to let this chance pass by. He turned away and started back for the intersection the police held as fast he could.

Once they were gone, the Turks returned their gaze to the killer. He was still leaning against the wall of the alley, his free hand pressed against his stomach. Blood was seeping down his shirt and into the tops of his pants. Even injured like he was his expression was still confidant. The three Turks returned his look, none of them willing to underestimate what he was capable of. Cait Sith was polishing his megaphone with his cape, seemingly uninterested in the staring match, but his Mog was glaring as well, his comic grin nearly a snarl. The killer was about to speak when he suddenly coughed, his hand racing to his mouth, his body shuddering with the effort. It lasted for several second before the killer reigned himself in, baring his teeth in pain or frustration.

"Damn," he said. "She's good."

"You ain't lookin' so hot, buddy," Reno called out. "You sure you don't want to surrender and make it easy on us?"

"Still got time. Time enough for a _Shield_!"

The Turks all reacted, but not fast enough to prevent a glowing sphere from coalescing around the serial killer. Reno struck the barrier with his electrorod and was rebuffed. He thumbed the taser and tried again, wincing as tendrils of lightning arced back and along his arm. He hissed and took a few steps back, shaking life back into the limb.

"The reports didn't say he had a _Shield_ materia!" Elena whined. "Only a single fire orb!"

"There's more."

They looked at the killer as he concentrated on his hands, magical essence swirling in his cupped palms. With the barrier in place they had no hope to reach him and could only watch. He lifted his hands up as if gesturing towards the heaven and cast a spell under his breath. Green healing light shone over his features and restored his color and posture. He cast the spell again and looked even more improved. The killer slapped his belly and rubbed his shirt around, satisfied that whatever injury was beneath had healed over. Even the blood on his face was gone. He started to laugh a little, then his whole body was wracked with a maddening cackle. "Not yet! This isn't done yet."

"Now!" Elena shouted, drawing her pistol. As if banished by her command the shield disappeared, the spell finally spent.

The killer rushed forward, his legs a blur as he closed the distance in a second. Rude stepped into his path and grabbed the thrown punch, twisting and flinging the killer into the air behind them. The Soldier spun and landed on his feet without trouble, his hand raised and magic building between his fingertips. A bolt of lightning sang out and collided with Rude, knocking him clean off his feet. Elena opened fire and had to lunge aside as a fireball roared past, exploding against a wall behind them and collapsing it the same. Another fire spell blasted Reno just before he could swing his electrorod and a crack of thunder send Cait Sith airborne with his mog chasing after. The killer recoiled as Elena's pistol found it's mark, but he roared in defiance and knocked her down with yet another gout of flame.

The killer looked around at his handiwork, sweat pouring down his brow from such magical exertion. The Turks all down, none of them able to move more than to look at their target. He laughed at the situation, a smile wide on his face. "So this is all the fearsome Turks can do? I thought you would be better than this!"

"It ain't over yet."

The killer looked and saw Reno clambering to his feet, tearing the burnt remains of his coat off. He then noticed Reno's mako eyes. "Soldier?"

"I was once, yeah," the redhead answered, calmly rolling the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. "Didn't stay long before they axed me, though. Too bloodthirsty, didn't take orders well, so they kicked me over to the Turks."

"Couldn't obey the Code."

"Nope." Reno finally tugged his shirt in place, then focused on the killer. "Code's a piece of shit anyhow."

The killer cast a _lightning_ spell the instant the insult was heard, but Reno contorted himself to move _around_ the bolt and finally closed the distance. He swung wildly at the killer's head, forcing him to back off. Reno's blows came faster, the taser arcing inches away from flesh, the forged metal whistling as it streaked by. The killer couldn't do anything more than react to Reno's assault, surprised that the Turk was still able to fight with this much ferocity. Still, he knew, there had to be an opening he could take advantage of soon.

Reno, however, knew when to change gears. He swung once more and got in as close as he could, then grabbed the killer's throat with his left hand. With all his strength he held tight, then stepped back and threw the Soldier into the air. The killer landed on his feet, spinning from the imparted energy, and collided with Rude's right hook. The killer staggered from the mighty blow, eyes open in shock. Rude followed up with a left straight into the gut, then a right into the side and kidney. That straightened the killer up and Rude delivered a fearsome uppercut that knocked the killer on his heels, and Reno approached from behind and used both hands to crack his electro-rod against the side of his head. Still disoriented, Reno used that moment to thumb the rod's taser to max output and jammed it into the killer's lower back. The killer convulsed as the electricity cascaded through his nerves, savaged his muscles and left him completely defenseless. From the side of the group Elena stepped up, lifted her pistol to the killer's eye, and pulled the trigger. A burst of ichor erupted from his face and the killer collapsed into a boneless sprawl.

The three Turks stood around the killer and stared at their handiwork. His left eye was gone, leaving a crater of blood and bone in his face. His other eye was dilated, staring past them and into the sky.

They stood there silent until Elena brushed her hair from her forehead. "Finally."

The killer then lurched, his whole body convulsing as his right hand shot up and clenched into a fist.

Pure green magic pulsed from within his grip. His one eye shook as it focused on them.

And his mouth opened to speak one word:

"Ultima."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

 **: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _ **Sector Police Staging Ground**_

Varik was standing in the rain, staring out at the wreckage of the neighborhood where the killer was seen. He had watched as Reeve and the Turks took off for the location, gung-ho for a fight. A few radio calls after were all it took to get his men organized. They would be circling around the eventual battleground, keeping within eyesight of one another, until they formed a ring around the site. More importantly, he told his sergeants, they were not to interfere until the fight was over. His men weren't capable of fighting off a first-class Soldier, but Varik wasn't concerned with assisting the Turks either. If they happened to get themselves killed it wouldn't bother him one bit. He could have his men close the noose until they found the killer and finished the job. And if the killer could break out of the ring and escape into the slums again?

Well, he knew the answer to that, but didn't want to pursue it. Better to wait and see what the ultimate outcome would be.

"Everyone's in place, boss."

Varik glanced to see Lor coming to his side. "And their orders?"

"They know what they're supposed to do," he said, scratching the stubble on his squarish jaw. "Can't say they're all happy 'bout it, but they're maintaining position."

"They can bitch about it later. I don't want any of them in the Turk's crossfire until they're dead or the killer is."

"Yeah, about that, boss-"

Varik finally looked at his subordinate. " _What_ about it, Lor?"

The officer paused a moment at Varik's tone. "Eh, never mind actually."

"That's right, Lor, you _will not mind_ if the Turks get killed. One less item off the list, right?"

"Sure."

"Good. Go make sure the medical teams are at the ready in case of casualties."

"Yessir."

Lor strolled away and Varik resumed his vigil. His ears kept straining to hear anything over the rain that might be from the battle. Gunfire, magic, anything that would let him know that things were moving apace. They were so close to putting this killer to rest! Everything was hinged on this day: the safety of Midgar, his career, the fate of Shin-Ra's remnants, city hall, all of it! If they couldn't put the killer down today, then-

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw two officers dart into an alley, then return with another person holding a woman in his arms. It took Varik a second to recognize Reeve, then to figure out the other person was that damned Soldier of his. He stomped over to talk with them as one of his men gently took her out of Reeve's arms and hoofed it to the ambulances.

"What's happened?" he asked.

Reeve held up a hand to catch his breath. "We found the killer! The Turks are fighting him right now! They need help!"

"Can't they handle it?"

"I don't know! The killer's using different materia, I have no idea-"

"Reeve!" Varik shouted, getting his eyes. "The killer fell off that roof. Isn't he injured?"

"Yeah, but-"

"How badly?"

"There was blood all over his shirt, but he still cast a strong aero spell!"

"Do the Turks have any-"

Suddenly his ears began ringing, some sound coming from out of the slums, rising in volume with each second. Varik looked all around him, noticed other officers mirroring his own confusion, all of them wondering what was going on. The noise reached a crescendo before erupting into a more familiar sound, a roar that shook the ground it was so intense. Varik shoved Reeve aside and grabbed someone, yelling over the noise what was going on, but the officer was shaking his head no, just as confused. Reeve grabbed Varik this time, yanking him around while pointing to the sky. A plume of green tinted smoke was rising into the air, rising so high it was as if a thousand-pound bomb had exploded. Varik knew it was the killer's doing, deep down past logic or explanation. He began hollering at his men to organize and expect casualties, for the radio operators to get him intel, at himself, tearing back and forth between impulses to command or take action.

Somewhere in those slums his answer lay in wait.

* * *

The killer opened his one good eye and saw destruction.

The sky was filled with greenish smoke leftover from that terrible spell, slowly dissipating from the rain. The street was cleared of wreckage, the closest buildings knocked down into themselves into piles of smoldering rubble. He tried to move his head but couldn't, tried to move any part of his rain-soaked body and couldn't. He closed his eye and looked inwards, looked into his soul with the hopes that there was some inner strength left to draw on. His mind was somehow sluggish, empty of things, things he should know like the back of his hand. He reached out further, focused as hard as he could. That gunshot wound to his head must've pulverized more than his eye, it must've struck into his brain, into the seat of himself. He pushed even harder, bulled his way into those channels of thought, used willpower alone to satisfy the conditions he needed to act.

He felt his body grow tense, his neck to his shoulder, bicep to forearm to hand that clenched and brought the focus he needed to bind his mind to body and open the path so that-

"Cure."

The spell was cast, this time sending green healing tendrils into his ravaged body. The pain in his head doubled, but his body was becoming responsive again.

"C-Cure!"

Another spike of pain in his head nearly made him scream, but he felt his whole body start to tingle like it was recovering from being numb. He shifted his weight, feeling enough strength to move again. Despite that sign he knew the pain would overwhelm him soon and he needed to act quickly. He got him arms behind him and leaned up to sit, then slowly got to his knees and to his feet. There was no way he could depend on the miracle that was his materia's Full Restore spell, not injured like he was. It was time to use his trump card.

He was shoved forward suddenly as arms wrapped around him, pinning his own hands to his sides. He looked down and gaped.

The arms were covered in singed white fur, oversized paws for hands locked together.

"Gimme that materia! Gimme gimme gimme!" a squeaky voice shouted.

He looked further down and saw the toy cat prying at his wrist, trying to unlock his slot bracelet.

After everything he'd accomplished. After culling so much weakness from Midgar, after finding the woman who was his other half, after beating Shin-Ra's own legendary Turks, and now he was about to be disarmed by a literal toy from the Gold Saucer?

A scream tore itself from his throat as he tore himself loose from the mog's grip, adrenaline and rage surging to heights he never experienced before. He kicked back to shove the mog away, then grabbed the toy cat and threw it down the street. He turned and received a surprising punch from the mog, but nothing of that pain made it through. His anger was so intense that nothing could make it through. It was the same berserk strength that his materia had coaxed out of so many of his victims. A strength he could finally use himself to get out of this situation.

The mog punched him again and he returned with his own, his fist smashing into one of the mog's cartoon eyes and cracking the lens. They traded blow for blow, each hit backed with incredible strength, yet neither of them backed down. The toy cat leapt onto his back, gloves trying to cover his eyes, and the killer grabbed it by the tail and used it as an improvised flail against the mog. It's comic grin turned to a frown, arms wavering, unable or unwilling to put the cat in harm's way by defending itself. The killer snarled and kicked the mog square in it's fluffy gut, knocking it back several feet. He threw the cat at him and waited until it landed, then cast a lightning spell that enveloped both machines. They flailed about, sparking and smoking, then went still. The pain in his head from pushing even more was clinical now, just a note. The burning intensity had gone full circle to a cold, cruel indifference. His anger had pushed everything else into compartments and left him with only his will to act. Nothing else mattered.

"Go!"

So when he heard that cry he reacted without hesitation, blocking the redhead's electro-rod with his off arm and punching him in the face with his right. The Turk looked savaged, clothes a wreck and burns covering him. That punch was enough to knock him back down for good.

The bald one rushed in and threw a jab, but the killer threw his own punch around the arm so they both took a hit. The killer felt a tooth crack loose in his mouth. The killer saw his own attack knock whatever consciousness was left in the other man out.

A bullet tore half his right ear off and the killer followed it back to the blonde, retorting with another bolt of lightning that dropped her like a ragdoll.

He waited for the next thing to occur, for the Turks or whoever to come for him, but none of them moved. The rain continued to wash over him, but it didn't matter. Only his cold, inhuman will to live was left here.

He grabbed a pouch clipped to his belt and took out a steel cylinder from inside. He twisted the top off and slid a glass vial into his hand. It was filled with a bright orange liquid and sealed with a small cork. His trump card: a Shin-Ra certified Elixir. A salve so potent it could bring a man back from the edge of the grave. For a time. Unlike materia, this was rooted in the mundane world and it's limits. This would bring him back to his full strength for only a few hours before wearing off. He had to find a place to hide so he could use his materia to heal himself for true and rest. This would be the only way he could escape this trap and continue his mission. He lifted the vial to his lips so he could pull the cork out with his teeth and imbibe of it.

Halfway there it shattered and a gunshot rang out from his left.

He stared at the tiny shards of glass in his hand, eyes wide in shock. He looked to his left to see what happened.

A sector police officer stood just twenty paces away, a revolver held in both hands. Around him were over a dozen other officers, their own firearms drawn. Even more were coming from other alleys. Others were dragging the Turks and those mechanical toys away. His mind, numb as it was, couldn't understand. Couldn't even form the question he wanted to ask.

The officer with the revolver then shouted a command, and the killer's world was made even colder.

* * *

" _Open fire!_ " Varik shouted.

Over thirty sector police obeyed, filling the street with a deafening roar. The serial killer was jerked around wildly as hundreds of bullets struck him, over and over and over and over. While Soldiers were strong, small caliber ammo no more a risk than a thrown rock, they weren't invincible. Injuries accumulated, skin broke, and blood flowed. A scream gargled free from the killer as he was beaten to death by lead. When he finally keeled over the sector police still fired, still ravaged his body. After nearly twenty whole seconds Varik lifted a fist into the air, screaming at them to hold. They watched for any sign of life and saw none at all, not even a whimper. The killer lay still, blood seeping out of dozens of wounds, washing down his prone form to the street with the rain. Varik emptied out the spent brass from his revolver and used a speedloader to slot in six fresh rounds. He then took slow and cautious steps forward, revolver aimed for the killer's face, until he stood right over him. His body was basically torn apart, one eye and the orbital bone around it reduced to bloody meat. He kicked the killer's shoulder. Nothing.

"Is he dead?" someone asked from behind.

The chief nodded, relaxing his guard. "Yeah, we're good. Everyone front and center."

"Who...?" the killer gasped.

Everyone snapped to attention, the closest officers aiming their weapons at the figure. Varik was almost ready to fire, but reconsidered after a few moments. The man was on his last legs, clearly dying with each ragged breath. He wouldn't be a threat, he hoped, he couldn't be, not after all this. A man can only take so much punishment before he dies, Soldier or not. How could he be dangerous after all this?

"Who's there?" he asked again.

"Sector police, motherfucker. Here to clean house," Varik stood in the Soldier's line of sight, revolver aligned with his forehead. "Now you get to answer _my_ question. What's your fucking name?"

"No one," he gurgled.

Varik kicked the killer's head. "Gimme a _name_ , damn you!"

"Just a Soldier. Just a little..." he coughed violently, lurching as far as he could. An arm lifted up, trying pathetically to stretch up at the police chief. "F-fire. _Fire_."

Nothing happened.

The killer's arm dropped back down limp as a noodle. He stared at the sky, his one good eye cloudy. "Shit."

"Burnt yourself out, huh? No more magic left? No more power?" Varik grinned. "Got anything else left to give?"

The killer spat out a mouthful of blood that ran down his chin, then grinned his bloody teeth at him. Varik returned the smile, understanding exactly what the killer would've said. Varik clicked back the hammer on his revolver and lined up the shot when someone grabbed his shoulder.

"Varik, don't do it!"

He looked back to see Reeve, of all people, trying to hold him back.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Don't be stupid!" Reeve shouted. "We need to put him on trial! We need to give people their justice!"

"Justice?!" Varik laughed, staring him down. "What the fuck do you mean, _justice_? This piece of shit gave up his right to justice the instant he started killing people!"

"That's bullshit and you know it!"

He wasn't going to waste time with this. "Amos, Marston, get this suit the fuck out of here."

Those two officers grabbed Reeve and dragged him back towards the staging ground, leaving the rest of them alone with the killer. Zera walked over from the crowd, her face carefully controlled.

"Anything else to add?" Varik asked, wondering if she'd chew him out too.

She looked at him and for a brief moment he saw something like anger or sadness in there, but it left just as quick. "Would you listen if I did?"

"Any other day I might, but not this time. Not with _him_." He looked around at all the other officers present, saw each of them looking at him for guidance. Looking at him for affirmation of their desires. "We all know the Officer's Creed by heart! We all know the laws that are written down and how to follow them! But when _this piece of shit_ kidnapped one of our own, then those laws go out the window and the old laws take their place. Laws where justice is in the hands of men and not some bureaucrats in their ivory towers!"

He saw them nod, even saw some smiles and cheers. "Yeah, you all know the ones. Fuck with the brotherhood and we fuck you right back. Kill one of our own and you're a dead man walking."

"Is he even alive still?" someone shouted from the back.

Varik looked down and saw the serial killer still breathing, somehow just as attentive as his officers. "Yeah he is!"

"Then quit speechifying already and shoot him! This weather sucks ass!" the same man said back.

A few officers laughed and so did Varik. He turned back to face the serial killer and aimed the revolver once again. "You heard 'em, you sonova-"

"Varik!"

He looked back at Zera again, eyes wide in irritation. " _What?_ "

She nodded at the killer. "Center mass. Make sure his face is intact for the media."

Varik looked at her for several seconds before a smile spread across his face. "You're starting to make sense again, Zera. Welcome back."

She didn't reply, but she didn't look away, either, so Varik took it for another small victory. He returned his attention to the serial killer for the last time, this time aiming for his heart. "We don't know the names of everyone you killed, but here's a few. For Harken."

He fired, the first bullet breaking a rib in a gout of blood.

"For Marle!"

The second bullet shattered that rib and splashed blood all over the killer's chest.

"For Will's older brother Samson!"

The third tore past his muscles and into his heart, blood now pumping out and all over his body.

"For Midgar!"

Bang.

"For her people!"

Bang!

" _And for Piper!_ "

 _BANG!_


	14. Epilogue

This story belongs to me and my creative mind. However, many of the characters, names, and places all belong to their respective companies, so don't yell at me for copyright infringements! _Remember, italics represent a person's thoughts or the telling of past events._

Enjoy...

* * *

 **: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _I've been taught that the past only offers lessons about how to learn from our failures. I've been taught that emotions are only a tool to use, a buffer to our talent, a key to our physical and mental limits. I've been taught that friendships only lead to weakness and grant our enemies leverage against us. I've been taught to never deviate from the Soldier Code, that the warrior instinct is the only true path to follow, that the strong have the right to control and use the weak. I've been taught that family is meaningless, that camaraderie between Soldiers is the only bond we need._

 _And now?_

 _Now I've learned that what we're taught isn't always the truth._

 _It would seem that I have much to learn._

 _-Atma_

* * *

 _ **Grace Hospital, Sector Two**_

 **One Week Later...**

The room was silent except the rustle of persons and the clatter of carts, voices muted to whispers, sparse and cherished medical equipment humming. The whole floor was similarly respected, used as the outpatient recovery ward where those not in immediate danger rested and regained their strength and their wits. It was crowded, never truly empty since it was opened and the victims of Meteor's wrath poured in for treatment. The doctors and nurses, all of them veterans of the slums, were pleased to see so much money being dedicated to their center after years of making due with the leftovers from the plates. The small building was expanded, built on, and still grew larger as the city government strove to make up for those lost on the plates. The surgeons and specialists from the up top were appalled at the conditions under which they operated, but rather than turn that disgust into anger, they focused it to improving their workplace so it was as good as the ones they came from. That dedication spread easily, and the moral of the neighborhood rose in turn. Like the sector police headquarters in Sector Three, the hospital became a center for renewal and hope for the citizens.

Few people were visiting the hospital, having gone home in the evening light, leaving only the desperate and dedicated to their vigils. Reeve, slouched in an armchair, turned a page in the tattered book he borrowed from the lobby downstairs, unaware and passive to the passing of time. It wasn't a particularly good story, but the sappy drama helped distract him from the demands piling up at his doorstep. He didn't want to get lost in work until he knew that she would be okay. The privacy curtain slid open and Rude stepped through, both hands bearing paper cups with steaming coffee. Reeve closed the book and set it onto the bed and accepted the offered cup, blowing on it and taking a sip.

"Still?" he asked.

"Yeah," Reeve replied.

Rude nodded, reaching up to tuck his sunglasses into his coat pocket and resting on a stool in the cordoned area. "No change?"

"No."

Reeve looked down at Atma, silently amazed that she had survived the fall off the building and also worried that she might never recover. Her head was covered in patches covering the stitches she needed for her lacerations, her nose pinned by a metal brace to correct the bone. He knew that beneath the blankets her body was equally bruised and battered. A lone intravenous needle was pressed into her exposed left arm, the saline bag hanging half empty next to the bed. An EKG and heart monitor silently measured her pulse, even and steady as a clock. Only the slow rise and fall of her chest gave evidence that she was alive. The doctor who headed her surgery said that the concussion she suffered was severe, that it might even be as bad as permanent brain damage, although he couldn't tell since he lacked the tools to know for certain. It would be days still until the needed equipment arrived from Junon, and until then, he gave no hope or fear about her condition. Being unconscious and with a good pulse, he said, was sufficient enough to hope for a natural recovery. Despite being this way for a full week, Reeve still had faith she would pull through. He knew that Soldiers were survivors, that she wouldn't succumb so easily.

"Where's Elena and Reno?" he asked.

"Probably still getting back from the tower."

Reeve sighed. It turned out that Varik had actually found a generator that was powerful enough for them to use in their investigation, but he never told them. Their argument, in the middle of the precinct, was a blur of shouting and threatening and worse. He still felt his muscles tense up at the memory. It had taken all his restraint to not just punch Varik's lights out for what he did, for what that delay had cost them. They could have found out the killer's identity and captured him so much quicker! They could have saved those last few lives that the killer took. Maybe even had saved officer Piper! None of that seemed enough to sway Varik's mind, but when he left, the expression on some of the officer's faces made it apparent that that conversation wasn't over.

"Did they find out who the killer was?"

"No," Rude said. "The personnel database is corrupted. Reno thinks he can repair the data, but he is not sure how long it will take."

"Did he have a guess?"

"No, but I doubt it will be easy. Tens of thousand of entries, each recovered by hand. It would be a challenge even for the programmers."

"So then we shouldn't expect much."

"I'm afraid not."

Reeve sighed, frustrated at the lack of progress. "Damn it all."

"You should go home and rest," Rude insisted.

"I'm fine."

"You're half asleep and you probably haven't eaten well all week. Go home, Reeve. I'll watch her tonight."

"But-"

Rude didn't let him argue. "There is no sense in making yourself ill just for honor's sake. No one will fault you, least of all her."

Reeve remained silent for a few seconds, but eventually nodded in agreement. He stood and stretched his arms, rolling his neck stiffly. He looked at Rude, suddenly feeling that exhaustion settle all over. "You'll call me if she wakes up, right?"

"Of course."

He nodded. "Alright. Alright, I'll leave it to you, then. G'night."

"Goodnight."

Reeve parted the curtain and left, footsteps loud in the silence until he rounded a corner and faded from earshot. Rude sighed deeply, wondering why the man was so worried over a woman he knew only professionally over the course of a few weeks. He supposed it was guilt that tore at him, the same sort of pain that any good commander felt at the troubles of his men. He stood up and took the armchair that Reeve occupied. He looked over at the Soldier, checking her vitals and her breathing. There was no familiarity in her appearance, no tickle in his memory when he thought back to that night. Just another nameless Soldier whose talents helped him and his long since retired comrades get their mission done. Still, such a coincidence was enough to surprise even him, enough to make him concerned for her well being. He checked the EKG monitor again and considered the statistics that rolled across the screen. His brows narrowed after he observed them for a minute.

"How long have you been awake?" he asked her.

There was no response, but the monitor showed her pulse strengthen a few digits. It was enough to prove she heard him, he knew.

"Why don't you want to speak with him?"

A meager sigh issued from her throat, and her eyes opened slowly from rest. She raised herself upright, arms sliding back to prop herself up. She carefully lifted a hand to tuck her hair behind her ears so it rested on the tips of her shoulders. Her expression looked empty, whether from the sleep or from a lack of control he couldn't tell. He waited patiently for her to talk when she was ready. Her eyes flicked towards his, the Mako glow so muted that they looked almost normal. They stared at one another that way for several moments, judging and thinking. Atma broke the connection, eyes drifting off to look through the floor to something within.

"Because I've changed," she said carefully, picking out her words. "When I fought that killer...I made a choice. I can't be a Soldier any longer. I realized that if I didn't let go of that, then I would never move on. I could have turned out like him eventually. I will if I keep on thinking like a Soldier. But I need time to understand myself, time to figure out what I believe in. I need to know who I am, who I was before all this. Reeve would want to help me, but he can't. This is personal. This is something I have to do on my own." Her eyes rose to meet with his. "You understand, don't you?"

He accepted all this without hesitation, though he wondered why she chose to confess to him. He answered simply. "Yes."

"Do you still think of yourself as a Turk?"

That was a pointed question Rude didn't expect. Still, if she was willing to be so honest about her own feelings, he felt he owed her to do the same. "Sometimes. Like when we needed to fight the serial killer. When we investigated the sector to find him. But the uglier things we used to do, it has been long enough that it feels like the past. It feels like a painful memory, but one that will not be repeated."

"So you've moved on?" she prodded after a few moments.

"Not all the way."

"Do you think you can?"

He recognized that question for what it really was. "Yes."

She smiled at the answer, and Rude was surprised to find himself smiling, too. Maybe hearing those words out loud made it a little more real to him as well.

"Will you stay here tonight?"

He nodded. "Injured Turks always have twenty-four hour security while recuperating."

"Really? But I'm not a Turk."

"No, but friends look out for each other, too."

"Friends, huh?" She seemed to consider that for several seconds before she nodded. "That feels good."

"It is."

She dropped back to bed, took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

"Do you need anything?" he asked. "Water? Food?"

"Sleep, I think," she answered. "And Rude? Call Reeve in the morning if he's that tired."

"Okay," he said, settling into the chair to get comfortable. He figured she overheard their brief conversation.

"Goodnight, Rude."

"Goodnight, Atma."

"Rude?"

"Yes?"

"I think I want to go by my first name from now on."

"Okay."

"G'night, Rude."

"Goodnight, Delita."

* * *

 _ **Sector Police Headquarters**_

"Ten, nine, eight..."

Varik idly rotated the cylinder of his revolver, chamber by chamber, as he watched the clock. Something was making him restless, like he ought to be doing something.

"...Four, three, two..."

He lifted his feet off his desk and lowered them to rest firmly on the floor. He nudged the cylinder back and holstered the pistol in one smooth motion.

"...One."

He stood up and stretched until he felt his shoulders crick, fingers reaching for the ceiling.

"And nothing to show for it."

He let his arms flop back down, eyes not focused on anything in particular. His office was the same as it had been since he took over four months ago, still piled with useless bric-a-brac belonging to the old Captain Donavel. Pictures and awards, relics from bygones eras and aeons when Shin-Ra was just a tiny company and Midgar a few local villages. He never understood how that old generation had gone on after everything was taken from them. People like the old man who ran Delikatessen. People who hated everything about Midgar but still remained. People who should have stopped Shinra before he took over, who should have been fighting from day one, who now just slept and died slowly in their tiny lives.

Varik had been just a kid when it happened, but he understood too well what he had to do. He worked to keep the slums safe, to foster all the hate he could against Shin-Ra. He would put all his support into groups like Avalanche while 'investigating' their presense, playing both sides of the fence every chance he had. But even with everything that happened in the last year, somehow it still wasn't enough. Shinra and his son dead, Shin-Ra itself disintegrated, Midgar ruined and toppled from it's parasitic grasp of the world and it wasn't enough. Soldiers loose in the city, worse than monsters, and sympathizers and apologists up to his armpits for peace with the enemy. Even without the serial killer he felt overwhelmed, but there was no choice except to keep going. He could feel the situation spiraling out of control, but he wasn't fool enough to think he could right it alone. He would do what he could, however little it meant, because that's all he would trust himself to do. Run the police, protect the peace, keep Shin-Ra from getting back any of it's power. No more and no less.

A knock on his door shook him out of his reverie. "What?"

It opened to show Lor's squarish face. "Shift's over, boss. Wanna get a drink at Del's?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I still got more work to do."

"C'mon, it's not like the world's gonna end if you don't pull in any overtime. Killer's long gone, it's business as usual now." He waved his hand by his face. "You're gonna start smellin' if you don't get out more often."

Varik forced a laugh but still shook his head. "I'll open a window."

"You sure?"

"Next time, Lor."

"I'm gonna hold you to that, Varik. Really, I am."

"I'll probably need it by then." He waved him off. "Get goin', I really need to get this shit done."

Lor shrugged and rolled his eyes. "You try and be nice..."

"Get going or I'll make you do all of it!" Varik said with a smile in his words.

Lor laughed and shook his head. "Yeah yeah. Night."

"Later."

He left the door open, but Varik didn't care. The night shift was a smaller crew who were too occupied with staying awake to bother him. Still, he didn't want to even chance being talked to, so he left his office for the break room. He walked across the floor to the stairs on the other end to the second floor. Up and down the hall, the left door missing to reveal the dirty white walls of the kitchen. Stained and patched couches, a table covered with dusty magazines and ashtrays. A refrigerator that hadn't worked for a year and cabinets empty of supplies. The only thing that worked was the coffeemaker. He poured a large cup and stirred in a spoonful of sugar, grumbling that all their creamer had spoiled a week ago. He slugged it down in one gulp, then poured a second cup. This he sipped, wincing a little at the strong bitter taste. He added a spoonful of sugar, sipped, and scowled.

"Whatever," he murmured.

He went downstairs and back into his office, closing the door behind him. He sniffed, noting the barest hint of something stale in the air. He cracked the windows open, sat down in his chair, and again propped his feet up on the desk. He took a swig of coffee and put the mug on the table. Once more he drew his revolver out and gently rotated the cylinder. It felt like there was a slight catch between two of the chambers, but it was so imperceptible he wondered if he just imagined it. He looked at it from both ends and saw no flaw in the metal. He gave it a firm spin and heard only the smooth staccato click. Disappointed somehow, he holstered the weapon again and leaned back in his chair. A craving moved his hand for the pack of cigarettes on the desk but he stopped, remembering he only had three grits left and how expensive they were these days. He didn't want his coffee, he was loathe to start filling out the reports for Wikker's briefings, and there was no immediate problems in the sector. All in all it was a boring day. So why did he feel this tension, this anxiety?

 _'I should go home.'_

He sat upright, wondering where that thought came from. Home? When was the last time he'd been back home? Three weeks? Four? No, just over a month, he realized. _A whole month_? He lowered his feet and stood, felt suddenly embarrassed. Had he really been slumming it in the precinct for that long? Yes, he knew. As long as the serial killer had been discovered he hadn't gone back home for the sake of keeping up with the news. But if the serial killer was dead? His corpse burnt to ash and no imitators taking up his cause? What reason was there to hang around?

He shook his head, surprised to see he was already shrugging his overcoat on to conceal his holster.

"Well fine, might as well," he said aloud as if to convince himself.

Coat on, he tugged it's trim and left the office without closing the door. He nodded at the men and women as they settled into their shift, glanced at the reception desk even though he knew the girl wasn't there, and stepped outside the precinct. The weather was chilly with a tiny breeze, just enough to cool his face. The sky was nearly dark, but he knew it would be completely black once he got home. He looked back at the precinct, at it's crumbling brick walls and cloudy windows. Somehow it felt wrong to be leaving, but he knew that this one night would be fine without him. He could do this.

And so he began walking back home. Down the main avenue until it reached the craggy walls of the three-two sector barrier. He followed the wall for a time, always alert for strange noises or movements, but it was just habit. Despite the run down nature of things it was a safe neighborhood, home to busybodies and young families. There were even a few kids kicking a soccer ball against the wall, chattering and laughing. A few men were smoking outside a tiny bar, quick and dirty music bumping from the open door. A woman was taking down laundry from a clothesline. It was almost picturesque for the slums. As much as people railed at the environment, called them slums in the first place, it was home to men and women no different than any other. There was no trouble here except from those who asked for it. Places like this were what kept Varik from giving up on Midgar. For all it's evils, it's crimes and sordid history, it was still a place to call home, and no one deserved to see their homes left to rot. He would defend them, as their trusted officer of the law, with all the power at his command.

Varik stood before his house, stared at it with new eyes. It was a tiny place, slightly better than a shack, but it was his own. Bedroom, bathroom, living room and kitchen. So small, but it was his home.

He stepped inside, locking the door behind him. He turned the lights on to reveal everything to him. Furniture, television, rugs and curtains. Shelves full of knick-knacks and a tiny dining table covered in newspapers. Walls covered in old and peeling wallpaper, ceiling a mixture of raw wood and plaster. A small and cluttered home that reflected, he realized, his own life in miniature. He took off his coat and hung it on the coat rack by the TV, then undid his holster and tossed it onto the kitchen counter. Wallet and keys into a small bowl by the coffeemaker, cigarettes and lighter next to it. He grabbed a mug from the counter and filled it with purified water in the fridge, drank it quickly, then set it in the washbasin. There wasn't anything to eat, but he wasn't hungry. He looked around the room and a heavy sigh slid from his lips. Going home hadn't changed a thing. It might have been a new change of place, a new environment, but it didn't do anything to ease the tension pressing against his mind.

 _'So why did I even come back?'_ he thought to himself. _'Nothing's changed. Why? Nothing's different. Nothing at all.'_

He walked down the tiny hall to the bedroom and began unbuttoning his shirt. He hung it in the closet along with his pants and belt, tossing the undershirt into the laundry basket. In underwear he stood before his bed, stared at the rumpled blankets and sheets. The ultimate refuge for every man and woman in history, a place to rest in comfort. So why didn't he feel that safety? Why was this nameless anticipation still souring his thoughts? He closed his eyes and tried to find it, tried to grasp whatever it was that made him feel so strange. Was it the killer, his identity still unknown? The daily flak from up high? Some stupid little thing he forgot about at the office?

It wasn't to be found.

Defeated, he slid into bed and drew the covers up to his neck. Sleep would tell. If not, then at least it was sleep in the comfort of a mattress and thick quilts instead of a cot.

An arm slid across his chest, it's hand curling up to his shoulder. "Rough day, hon?"

"Yeah," he murmured. "Sorry, Starla."

"Hmmmm." She curled up close to him. "It's good to see you."

"You too, babe."

 _'Nothing's different,'_ his mind whispered. _'Why? Nothing's different at all. Why? Nothing's changed. So why?'_

* * *

 _ **A Deeper Green**_

Reno and Elena stepped into the bar, surprised to find it as crowded as it was. Most of the tables had been dragged to one half of the floor, all the chairs filled with men in reflective vests. They were talking all over each other loud enough that it seemed impossible that they could hear one another. The rest of the bar patrons were hunched over their drinks, couples and friends grim at the excess.

"Are you sure you want to stay?" Elena had to shout in the redhead's ear.

"'Course I do! A little noise ain't gonna hurt no one!"

She shrugged and followed him to the bar where Milton Dredge was hastily cleaning shotglasses and pintglasses. The barkeep nodded at them, then leaned over the countertop to be heard. "Do you two wanna use the VIP room?"

"You got one of those?" Reno asked, eyes wide in surprise.

"Recent addition! Fifty gil an hour!"

Elena gave the bartender a look. "What kinda room _is_ this?"

"Doesn't matter to me, 'Lena, fifty's a deal!" Reno said as he slapped the coin on the table.

"Okay, folks, follow me!"

Milton led them towards the back of the bar, parting the dirty linen sheet that obscured the doorway. Elena walked in first, struggling to keep her mind out of the gutter over what a VIP room that charged by the hour would be.

It turned out to be two small tables with padded chairs, dimmed lights, fresh carpeting and new paint. The walls were decorated with pictures of pastoral scenes, rolling green hills and sunsets. In the corner of the room was a small sink and mini-fridge, a shelf holding some bar tools and decorative ceramic steins. Reno walked past her to sit down and Milton came in last. He grabbed a handle and pulled a door closed that was hidden in the wall on a track. The volume immediately dropped to murmurs, more than quiet enough for a conversation.

"Wow," Reno said, "nice digs, Dredge!"

"Just finished the last work two days ago. I figure if I'm never gonna use the kitchen, it'd be better like this."

"You even managed to make it green this time," he said, a wide grin on his face.

Dredge snorted at that. "Figures you'd bring that up."

"So what kinda VIP treatment we gonna get?" the redhead asked.

"Peace an' quiet, mostly. Privacy too. Still kinda figurin' out the rest as I go."

"You could start with some complementary drinks."

He nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I figure that'll be the main draw. Lemme get back out front so's I don't get walked out on. Whiskey to start?"

"Gongaga if you have it."

"Probably. Be a sec." He opened and closed the door, then appeared a minute later with two small tumblers and a half bottle of brown liquor. "Sorry, all I got left. There's ice in the mini-fridge if you want it. I'll knock when time's up."

"Fine by me!" Reno said.

"Right, then. Enjoy yourselves!" Milton replied.

He turned and drew the door closed, silencing the room and leaving the two Turks to themselves.

"You gonna sit, 'Lena?"

That made her jump for some reason, and she realized she'd just been standing there staring at the door. She walked to the nearer table and sat opposite Reno, who'd already poured out two fingers of whiskey into their cups. He slid one over to her and held his up in a silent toast. Elena clinked her glass to his and sipped, tasting smokey and peaty flavors as they rolled down her tongue. She noticed that Reno didn't just down his glass like he usually did. He wasn't even teasing her or prodding her to talk like usual. Something about his silence and this room made things feel more intimate than she expected.

"How're you holding up?" he finally asked.

"I'm fine, mostly. Still sore as hell, though."

"Yeah, me too."

She felt lucky that sore and achy muscles were all that was left to endure. Getting hit with so many spells from the serial killer had left her nerves feeling raw and exposed. Everything had just _hurt_. Fortunately they were able to use the killer's own materia to heal themselves just as effectively as he injured them. Several sessions of _Cure_ and _Esuna_ spells had greatly sped up their recovery, letting them work while wounded, as their doctors told them. While physically intact, their bodies still had to recover as nature intended, so they were on light duty for the time being.

However, when Reeve told them that they finally got access to a portable generator, Reno was first to volunteer to go to headquarters. If all they had to do was carry that generator to the server rooms on the 10th floor, then he'd take care of it.

When Reeve made to argue that someone else could handle it, she surprised herself when she also volunteered.

With that settled, Reeve contacted Hart Adagio who managed to charter a helicopter from Junon's engineers for a flight to Sector Zero and the abandoned Shin-Ra HQ. The helicopter pilot and another man did the heavy lifting while Reno and Elena directed them upstairs. Once there they began powering up individual server stacks, checking each one to find out which had the company's Soldier data. They struck paydirt on the eighth stack, but as soon as Reno started digging into the directories, he hit a roadblock.

The stack's data was corrupted. They could access the upper directories and departments, but anything deeper was either inaccessible or filled with garbage text. Reno, revealing that he actually knew a bit about programming, started trying to undo the damage manually, an immense task for him alone. He kept at it for five hours until the generator sputtered to a stop, completely empty of mako fuel. Their progress halted, Reno decided to call it quits for the day. It was getting late anyways, he muttered, and no one wanted to try and leave the plate in the dark. He called Rude as they left the ruins of the tower, informed him of the situation, and that they were on their way back.

The two Junon corpsmen dropped them back off near city hall, and when Reno turned around and started for Deeper Green, Elena didn't ask why. She knew that any chance of finding out the serial killer's identity was going to be impossible now. With the killer dead, there wasn't even much of a reason to try anyways. He would just have to go down as a faceless monster, a faceless and unexplainable threat that offered no closure, no explanation.

"S'quiet."

Elena looked back up at Reno, the redhead slowly rolling the tumbler in his hand.

"Yeah," she replied.

He set the glass onto the table, then slowly pushed it to the middle. "Think I'm done with this."

"You're not thirsty?"

"Not that, 'Lena, I mean this," he said, waving a hand around. "All of this. Soldiers. Midgar. Politics. All of it."

This was new. Elena sat up straighter in her chair. "What do you mean?"

He seemed to sink even lower onto the table. "I mean I'm _tired of all this_. I'm tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the next crisis to show up. I'm tired of wondering whether or not the next mission means I'm gonna see someone I care about die."

"Reno-"

"We almost did die out there anyways!" he said loudly, interrupting her. "That fucker _had_ us, 'Lena. Had us from square one, and I'm still tryin' to figure out how we made it out of there."

"The sector police got there in time to stop him," she said, wondering and fearing where his thoughts were going.

"Yeah, they just rolled him over right at the last second, how convenient." His expression got dark all of a sudden. "You _know_ that asshole was holding them back. _He used us, Elena_. Used us as bait to get him out in the open, to wear him down so they could finish him off. Varik and his wonder-cops get a fuckin' parade for stopping the serial killer, with the assistance of some former Shin-Ra employees, of course. Varik gets all the glory and we get jack shit!"

Was that it? Was Reno just that upset that Varik seemed to get away with hogging the media's attention? That seemed far too petty for him, and he was capable of holding _very_ petty grudges. Where was all this going?

"That was our best chance, too, y'know," he sighed.

"Best chance for what?" she asked.

"The best chance to redeem the Turk's name. To redeem _us_."

"W-What?"

"To show everyone that we deserve a second chance! To show them that we're not monsters, that we can help people." He paused, ran his hands through his hair, flattened them on the table. "I'm tired of my life being defined by my history as a Turk. If we could've stopped the serial killer, we could've shown everyone that 'hey, we're the good guys, too!' We could tell people that we've started over and they'd believe it. We could start a new life, do anything we want. Be anything we want. Be more than just some title."

Elena stared at Reno, shocked by all this. This wasn't anything like how he was before, except maybe when they finally found each other again, and right at this very bar. How long had he been feeling like this? How long had he been holding this back from her? From Rude? Just as suddenly as these questions arose she knew the reason, knew exactly where this was coming from. It wasn't anything to do with the serial killer or the struggles they had to hunt him down. She reached out and placed her hand over his, getting his attention.

"You're not a monster, Reno," she said quietly.

"Tell it to Varik and all the other assholes who say otherwise," he grumbled.

She shook her head, then reached out with her other hand and picked up his, holding it gently between them. "It doesn't matter what they say. You aren't a monster."

"Quit preachin' at me blondie."

She didn't rise to his bait. "You're a good man, Reno."

That, of all things, finally made him go rigid. "W-What?"

"You are a good man," she repeated, emphasizing each word.

He didn't reply, didn't even blink. Elena kept eye contact with him and squeezed his hand. Ever since she first met him as a rookie she always saw something below his irrelevant, slacker persona. He joked, he swore, he chatted up anyone about anything, he kept rambling all the time that she swore he had no inner monologue. But the one thing he never talked about was himself. He acted like the world revolved around him, but the closer you got to the center the more he pushed you away. The closer you got to him, the more he made it about you. When they first reunited here, he was honest enough to admit he was afraid for himself and his friends. When they were at the stakeout in Sector Three, he was honest enough to admit how much it hurt him that he couldn't save the life of a little girl. The closer she got to him, the more she saw that there was so much pain and fear and disgust in his heart. So much hate for himself, and no one to-

"I forgive you."

"What?!" he shouted, eyes wide.

Elena started at Reno's outburst, then started again at what she said, then a third time when she realized she was still holding his hand. But before any of those shook her, she continued speaking.

"Reno, I know it's not my place to say this," she rushed out, still holding onto his hand. "I'm just a ditzy blonde rookie after all. I have no right to say this to you, but I forgive you."

"'Lena, what-"

"Let me finish," she asked, and he complied. "I forgive you for not stopping the killer in time for us to have a chance at redemption. I forgive you for not being able to save Raine Soto's life. I forgive you for being the one who had to drop the Sector Seven plate."

He snatched his hand out of hers and sneered. "Don't you say-"

"Let me finish!" she shouted again, grabbing his hand and holding tight. "I forgive you, Reno, because none of that is your fault! I forgive you, Reno, because I don't think you've ever forgiven yourself, and if you won't do it, if nobody else'll do it, then I will!"

He tried to say something, but his mouth opened and nothing came out. His expression was somewhere between terrified and angry, his eyes shaking, his whole body shaking with the littlest of tremors. She had never seen him so exposed before, not even after the Sector Seven incident. Well, not until last week when he broke down after telling that story about the little girl. Ever since he had returned Elena had felt something was missing from the redhead, and now she knew what it was. She lifted his hand up to her lips and kissed it.

"I forgive you for everything, Reno, and when you want to start over, I'll be right by your side," she said to him. She promised to him.

Finally his expression changed, the corners of his mouth ticking up. He even snickered for a moment. "That's a pretty lame marriage proposal, 'Lena."

She half stood from her chair, leaned far over the table, and kissed him square on the mouth. His face turned a brighter shade of red than his hair, but she drew away before he could react any further.

"W-Wha-wha-" he stammered.

She smiled at the utter confusion that was plain on his face. "That's for coming back to your senses. I hate seeing you like that."

He struggled to get himself composed, fidgeting with his shirt and hairtie, stammering all the while. "W-Well, 'Lena, never knew you were into those dark an' brooding types. Might do it more often if it means freebies like that one."

Elena laughed loudly, face wide and open in happiness even as Reno scowled at her. She didn't know if she could really help him with his problems, but getting him out of his funk was a good start. She picked up the forgotten bottle of Gongagan whiskey and poured their glasses to three fingers full. Reno accepted his glass and Elena hers, and they raised them up to salute.

"Gonna make a toast this time?" he asked.

"Yeah." She lifted hers to the heavens above. "To a new beginning, and a new life."

"Gawd, how sappy you gonna get, girlie?" Reno drawled, but he lifted his glass up, too. "To a good friend, and to second chances."

They clinked their cups together and drained them in one gulp, then said in a raspy voice:

"Cheers!"

 **THE END**


	15. Author's Note

**: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _ **An Apology**_

Howdy everyone.

This apology is for everyone to read, new and old readers alike. I'll try and make this short and sweet.

I don't know what motivated me to take the patched and abused materials of this story and forge them into a flawed, imperfect ending. At some point in early July of this year and I just started typing. I didn't really know what for, but by the end it turned out to be an apology letter to my readers. An explanation for what happened to this story, an explanation for how I tried to save it. And, at the end, a promissory note saying that I would be uploading a story called The Past RE-Concluded once a week. A promise that, however flawed it might turn out, I would finish this story and put it to rest for good.

A promise from myself, to myself.

A promise to conclude this story at last.

To bring this stubborn story to it's conclusion and finally let the past be the past so the present can move on to the future.

It was poetic. Smarmy and saccharine, but poetic. So I wrote and I wrote, I arranged and I plotted. I took seventy percent of my original story, connected it with thirty percent of new material, and the results weren't perfection, but were good enough. Better to stumble past the finish line dead last than to just quit the race entirely. Better to show the story with all it's flaws than to pretend that it never existed. Better to give some sense of closure than to wallow in doubt over all the what-might-have-beens.

And there it was.

And here we are.

And so much for short and sweet. Bittersweet is how I feel right now, but it's better than feeling nothing at all.

Thank you for giving this story a chance.

-Solitary Confinement

 _ **P.S.**_

I wrote three entire revisions of this story throughout the years, so there's a lot of discarded content in there. I'll be posting some of those deleted scenes later on for you folks. These scenes were not included in the main story because I couldn't find a place for them, but as little snippets of storytelling, I think they hold up just fine.


	16. Deleted Scene One

_Author's Note: So hey all, how about those weekly updates?!_

 _I live in Southern California and was evacuated out of my home because of the wildfires everywhere. I had to leave late Thursday night and just got back this morning. Thankfully nothing was damaged when I was away, so I can settle in without worry._

 _Anyhoo, this is the final update to the story, so enjoy these bonus scenes! Thanks for sticking with me, everyone!_

* * *

 **: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _ **Deleted Scene**_

 _ **The Turks Fight Four Soldiers**_

 _I rewrote this scene to emphasize the actual mechanics of certain materia, but since it happens after the story should've ended, it'll be the first of many extras! In the game, the Haste spell just makes your ATB go faster. How would that actually work in "real life?" Here I showed that process from start to finish. Bonus points to whoever recognizes the phrase "two shakes of a lambs tail" without googling it!_

* * *

As the three of them ran towards the source of the noise, smaller and more rapid gunshots echoed down the abandoned and ruined hovels on the uninhabited neighborhood. The explosions came less frequent, but more violent as they neared what seemed like a battlefield. After nearly five minutes of running they rounded a corner and found exactly what they heard. A scattered group of sector police were huddled by the smoldering wrecks of their vehicles, darting out only to fire their sidearms before ducking to avoid being targeted. Further out, standing in a dramatic line, were four men with their hands devoid of arms, one man holding his left hand up as if hailing the officers. Said man thrust his arm forward, and a fireball blossomed beneath one of the truck husks and tossed it onto it's side, throwing the officers like rag dolls backwards. The sector police used this distraction to open fire, but the bullets that struck their assailants only seemed to make them flinch or stumble rather than drop in pain.

"Soldiers!" Elena exclaimed.

"Duh," Reno scolded, extending the electrorod in his hand. "Come on!"

The redhead lead the way towards the outclassed officers, crouching as he neared their position. When he slid between two men and peered out to see the Soldiers clearly, they nearly jumped into the air in shock.

"Who the fuck-"

"Turk," Reno said in answer. "Here to help."

"Get down, then!" one officer admonished, pulling the redhead down to his knees. "Why the hell are you out here?!"

"Charity work." He leaned over to Rude, who was waiting at his side. "What do you think?"

"That one has a high class fire materia, probably other types as well. He should be the first target."

"Elena?"

Elena peered through a crack in the truck frame, looking at the four Soldiers as they postured and enjoyed themselves. The man on the far right was the largest of them, arms crossed in annoyance that he was held back. Next to him was the thinnest of them, hands in pockets, disinterested. The magician was next, laughing loud enough to hear between taking long gulps of what had to be ethers from a cache on his belt. The last was sharing in the humor, a hand at his waist in readiness to draw something from beneath the fold his his coat. She figured that only two of them, the mage and the muscled one, were really a threat. "They defer to the guy with the materia, so he must be the leader."

"Attack head on?" he suggested.

She gaped at him. "Of course not! That's suicide!"

"Just keepin' you on your toes. Rude, you're on me. Elena, move and snipe the leader from the side, then hang back. We'll go after he's down."

"Are-"

"Just do it!" he barked fiercely. "No arguments!"

She hesitated, but nodded; it was back to old roles for the time being. "Okay."

Reno looked at the officers around him, each of them bearing confused expressions. He smirked. "You guys go help your friends, this is work for professionals."

She walked past the stunned officers crouched over, trying to keep behind cover and out of sight. She got onto her knees and leaned her head out just enough to get a sight on the materia wielding Soldier. He was talking with the others, head turned and unaware of the persons he was tormenting. They were about twenty meters away, in the open without any cover except for the rubble of buildings to their sides. It would be an easy shot, but the second it would take for her to swing out and get her bearings might leave her exposed too long. Little choice, then, she thought. She reached into an inner pocket of her suit coat and took out a slot bracelet bearing two green orbs, _Haste_ and _Cure_. She snapped it on and then looked back to see Reno. She made a gesture with her hand like a running person and he nodded. With that understood, she took out her pistol and flicked the safety off, readying herself for the attack. Pistol in one hand, she lifted the other and began to whisper words to a spell. Lights began forming and dancing in her palm, spinning quicker and quicker as she brought the spell to it's climax. She clutched her hand shut and grit out the words to cast.

"God-speed!"

Her whole body shuddered and she stood, eyes wide at the renewed shock of how _Haste_ felt. Her ears were roaring. Everything looked flat, like staring at a television from too close. She looked back and saw Reno halfway to his feet, rising so slowly it seemed like it would be a full minute until he would be fully upright. Rude was standing, too, and just as slow. The officers may have been statues for how still they were. Even the embers and fire from the cruiser were slow, so slow it was fascinating to look at them all, like a three-dimensional piece of art. She shook her head. There wasn't time for this, there was all the time in the world for this. _Haste_ made you feel incredible, but you couldn't let yourself get lost in it. Soon the world would catch up, and you couldn't waste this time just being stoned on your own speed. She walked around the burning cruiser and sighted the materia user. He looked like he was just becoming aware of their attack, but he didn't see her out in the open. Too bad.

She lifted her arm and sighted the pistol, then emptied the magazine into him.

She watched, could actually see with her eyes, the first bullet cross between them to plunge into the soft flesh of his belly. She waited until the receiver slid back to chamber the next bullet and fired again. This bullet struck a little higher, just below the ribcage. She took a moment to watch the brass spin away from her, flickering in the fading sunlight. The third shot hit where his heart would be, breaking through the rib. Blood was just starting to come out of the first bullet wound. The fourth shot skipped off his collarbone and ricocheted away into the sky. His mouth was opening in what probably was a scream. The fifth shot went into the hollow of his throat. The sixth into his jaw. The seventh into his mouth. Things were starting to speed up a little, but there was still plenty of time. The eighth and ninth into his left cheekbone. The tenth into his eye socket. The bullets were getting harder to watch, they were moving too fast. The eleventh into his forehead. The twelfth and final bullet skidding atop his head and rustling his hair. That should have been squarely in his skull, but he was moving too quick now, everything was starting to catch up. Too bad, but _Haste_ never lasted long enough. She ejected the magazine from her pistol and replaced it with a second, then lifted it and held it steady in both hands. The world was crashing back into sync and she began firing at the big brute. Suddenly it hit her and she gasped, tried to fight off the shock and exhaustion to keep shooting, surprised that her friends were already engaged.

That was what two shakes of a lambs tail felt like in the end. Two shakes, two seconds. Two seconds as god.

Reno, in the lead, ducked and dodged to his left and extended his arm out to jam the electrorod into the muscular Soldier's stomach. The blow was fierce, and the man's face stretched taught in agony as the charge blasted itself from tip to tip of his body. The Soldier went down, and Reno was there to crack the teeth in his jaws with a fierce swipe of the rod. When he squirmed to get up, the Turk shoved the rod into his neck and let the electrical charge wear down completely, enough that the man was reduced to a twitching wreck.

Rude, taking a slower pace, came close to the Soldier who was moving to bring both his fists against the thinner Turk's back. He drove his fist into his liver, eliciting a cry from his target before he used a palm heel hit to the back of his head to send the man down right next to the redhead's victim. Arms suddenly circled around his neck, hands grabbing his head to twist in an effort to snap his neck. Rude immediately grabbed the man's arms and pulled, trying to part them while keeping his neck rigid. A single gunshot rang out and he heard the man scream in pain, his arms falling slack. It was enough that he drove an elbow back, knocking the man away. He turned and punched the man across the jaw to the right, then followed to the left, and completed with a vicious right hook that sent the man stumbling to his hands and knees. Rude finished the task with a kick that twisted the man over in the air to land on his back, blood immediately drooling from his open mouth.

The Turks stood still a moment, making sure of their work.

None of the four Soldiers moved.


	17. Deleted Scene Two

**: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _ **Deleted Scene**_

 _ **Tetra, Jan, The Killer, and Erwen**_

 _I wrote this scene in the first revision of this story, where I tried harder to incorporate the whole Occisor plotline. I liked the characters of Tetra and Jan, so I wrote an entire chapter with them dealing with the aftermath of the siege of Sector Three. Instead of the serial killer being mortally wounded and encountering the Turks, he's mortally wounded and escapes, only to be found by some unfortunate third-class Soldiers. But there's more to that encounter than meets the eye..._

* * *

Tetra couldn't help but slink when night fell. It was a habit long ingrained into her body from similar nights in Wutai, whether fecund jungles or rotten alleyways. As a child she was passed around from house to house, no one in her extended family willing to fully welcome her into their home. Sometimes they even purposely forgot about her, and so was left to the streets. Sometimes she even preferred the outdoors, knowing with wisdom too old for her soul the moods of her relatives, what alcohol or anger foretold. When her childhood ended, physically, and she became a woman unto herself, she had realized a truth of life. At night, especially on those hot and dry summer nights, the streets were as safe and welcoming as any home. Sure, there was the risk of thieves or muggers, but no more than those who would break into your house to steal. Walls, windows and doors, they offered a false barrier to life's harsh truth. People place too much faith in that barrier, and when they saw it broken, suffered for their ignorance. The only real barrier was your body, and it took the streets and open spaces to teach that to Tetra. The fear that came with a home was not hers to suffer. One only need keep to oneself, and the world was your home. A little common sense and bravery, and it was your sanctuary.

Of course, sometimes even a sanctuary can be violated.

She came to a corner and held to it, listening for any noise before peeking around. He was still moving, heading somewhere deep into the empty blocks of sector one. His feet were dragging a clear trail in the dirt, but he seemed oblivious to that. She waited until he was almost at an alley before following. This man was close to the edge of her territory, and she liked to think she stalked him to ensure he was leaving. But she caught a glance, hardly an instant from the corner of her eye, of another eye like her own. To see a man like him, like her, in such a state did more than tickle her fancy. She wanted to know what this Soldier was doing. His existence spoke of dangers in the city, of an escalating danger to her kind. Whoever, or whatever, brought a Soldier that big to sloppiness was worth investigating, and so she followed him.

The alley he stumbled to was absolutely dark. Tetra approached the entrance, then waited against the brick wall adjacent. She closed her eyes and listened, strained to focus on any noise being made. Sure enough, amidst the snick of insects creeping, his dragging footsteps were like sandpaper against wood. She waited until the sound faded off, then peeked into the alley. He was at it's end, a hand propping him against a wall. His head was hunched down, shoulder slumped. Whatever winded him left barely any of his strength. He rested a minute, then continued on, and Tetra skulked after him. She brushed her fingers across the hatchet at her waist, reminding herself of it's presence. The machete blade and weighted handle was a perfect close quarters weapon, and the Soldier looked to have nothing on him except a knife. If it came to a fight, a tiny possibility out of them all, Tetra was confidant of her advantage.

She got to the end of the alley and again waited, listening. His path was evident again by all the noise he was making. She darted her head out and saw him walking down the empty street, seemingly aimless. It has been ten minutes since she caught his trail, and no one else had walked in on this spectacle. The temptation to call him out, to break the silence, was overwhelming in her mind. What was the sense in just following him for no good reason? If it was to find out what he was doing here, or what was wrong, why not get those answers directly? Something about him was wrong, though, more than just some sixth sense. There was an aura about him that made the hairs on her neck stand on end. Death followed him, yet she was drawn to do the same, only sensible enough to do so discreetly.

 _'He's no ordinary Soldier.'_ A smirk tugged her lips a moment. _'Then again, who among us is?'_

His walk suddenly veered to the left, heading towards a wood shack built in a gap between piles of broken stones and concrete. Tetra froze, watching. He teetered forward, inertia bringing him down. He collapsed against the shack's wall, making the whole thing shudder, and slid down into a haphazard slump. He didn't move afterwards.

She forced herself forward, slowly approaching the shed, hand on the grip of the hatchet and ready to draw. She got all the way to stand in front of him, then knelt and looked him over. Black hair in snarls across his scalp, olive toned skin smudged with dirt and grime. His hands were calloused and covered in healed cuts. His jacket was bloody, but most of it was on his shirt, spreading down from a cut in the fabric. She peered at it and saw no open wound, but the amount of blood was substantial. She shivered when she realized that even so wounded he had used materia to mend a life-threatening injury. She scooted back out of arms reach, drew her hatchet out, and steeled herself for action.

"Hey."

Nothing.

"Hey!"

Still nothing. Frowning, she replaced the weapon and scooted close again. Trepidation made her hand shake, but she prodded his cheek with a finger to get a response. When there was none, she delicately pried open an eyelid. The mako glowing eye was dim to being flat, the pupil dilated and unwavering. Unconscious and badly drained. She stood back, but leaned in to close his eye on second thought.

"Ho-ly shit," she swore, the facts finally sinking in. Whoever this was, he had to be a first class Soldier. No one else could have walked away with his injuries and still be alive. She then checked him over, looking for his chain and a slot bracelet. His left wrist held a single orb, and she snapped the bracelet off and put it on her own arm. She focused on the orb, stared into the murky green crystal to something more than sight could see. A tingle of nerves slid up her arm and across her body, and with it, sudden memories of mantras. Dozen, hundreds of them! She gasped, shaken by the knowledge. This was a _mastered magic materia_! This single orb held a vastness of wisdom that amounted to power equal to a Soldier battalion! She reached into the man's shirt, felt the chain, and drew it out to see the barcode. Another shock rolled across her brain when she recognized the number sequence.

"Oh fuck." She nearly fell on her rump, but stood and stepped back. This man was one of the Soldier elite, a man of rank along the likes of Sephiroth himself! To see him like this, battered and unconscious, made her terrified. Who did this to him, and why? The more she looked him over, the more the questions tugged at her thoughts. This wasn't just another case of Soldiers beating the crap out of one another. No, this was an assault on someone who should be untouchable. If he could be hurt, then anyone could. This was a threat just as dangerous as Meteor! She looked at the materia again, knowing full well the power she now held. Even this wasn't enough. She shivered, wondering if she needed to go to ground and wait this out.

"But," she muttered, looking at the Soldier again, "I need answers first."

With some effort, she stooped and hooked her arms underneath his shoulders and hefted him upright. Looking backwards, she kicked in the rotten door of the shack and peered inside. Blankets and chunks of mattress were pushed against one wall, the rest of the dirt floor covered in food wrappers and glass bottles. She shoved her way inside and managed to get the Soldier onto the padding, stuffing the natty sheets under his head to keep it elevated. She checked the containers but didn't find anything edible. She sighed, then stood and walked out, dragging the door to close it as best it could. Time to scavenge for food in sector two, she knew. Hopefully he would be in a good mood whenever he came around.

She looked around to remember the lay of the street, then headed directly south towards the revitalized sectors. It was nearly a half hour before she saw another living being, a transient citizen slinking into the burnt-out shell of a house. A dim fire lit inside a trashcan illuminated some of her walk, but she avoided it and the people that slept nearby. The closer she got to people, the more wary she became. Who could tell what their intention was? Even in a ruined city like Midgar the law of the streets still held true. You kept to yourself unless desperate, and anyone showing interest in you was as likely to rob you as much as help. There wasn't much farther to go until she got to the safehouse.

A whistle broke the silence, loud as an explosion. Tetra started only a second until memory caught up: someone was humming a line from a famous tune, the main theme from the Loveless play. She stopped and whistled the following line, looking back and seeing a fellow Soldier. He was ambling over, hands in pocket and grim face polarizing the upbeat tune.

"Fancy that," he spoke. "Little miss soldier out on a stroll."

"And everyone's favorite comedian running my commentary," she replied. "The hell do you want?"

"Information," was his answer. "You heard anything about sector three?"

"Only what's been goin' around."

"Refresh my memory, then."

"Walk with me," she insisted. When he caught up to her pace, she glanced him over. Yan was anything but mysterious beneath his ground sweeping overcoat. He was a piss and vinegar teenager full of spite for the world, too young to be a Soldier and too old to ever start over. Tetra swore that he was the youngest kid that Soldier ever saw. She even doubted he saw active duty before Meteor fell. Nonetheless he was a streetwise kid with balls for anything and made for a useful acquaintance. "Three's been blockaded by sector police, and they've been broadening their reach. I've heard they're just killing Soldiers on the spot now. Everyone's been stayin' clear of there."

"What about the serial killer they're after? Anything about him?"

"Just that he's disappeared...he's..."

At her silence, Yan leaned closer to her. "Tet?"

"S'nothin'. He's disappeared is all."

"Alrighty. I just heard that sector police is shutting the operation down. Looks like it's back to square one for them."

"And us."

"What, you think we're in danger?" he laughed. "Shit, they can't catch us all. All it's gonna take is time and we're gonna run this city."

"So you keep saying."

"I'm serious, Tetra! You should come meet him. The guy's a genius! He's got everything planned out, all we need are more Soldiers and it's done!"

"I've said it before, I'm not interested."

"Come on, he just wants to talk to you!"

"What, you've told him about me?"

"Well, sure-"

Tetra whirled on him and broke his nose in one fluid motion. Yan fell onto his back with a yelp, hands covering his face. She clenched her hands into fists to keep from drawing her hatchet. "Damn it, Yan, what did you tell him!?"

"Nothin'!" he moaned, getting up to sit. "Just that I know you and think you could really help us out, you know?"

"Fuck!" She grabbed his collar and dragged him up, then shoved him away. "Just...damn it, don't just make assumptions about me! Shit, all I want is some god-damn peace! I don't want to fight someone else's fucking war!"

"It's a war to make sure we don't get slaughtered out there! Don't you see? Soldiers are going to be ostracized from society because of what we've done. We're never gonna be accepted by society unless we take it for ourselves."

"That's his call to make. I'll live how I want and see what it gets me."

"It's not going to work, Tetra! You know it won't."

"That's _my_ call to make." She turned away from him. "Get lost."

"Just-"

"Fuck off already!" she spat.

She walked briskly, hoping he wasn't going to keep pestering her about that mysterious organization. As if chance had been waiting for that moment, a hand clamped hard onto her shoulder.

"Tetra, he-"

Nothing made it past his throat as Tetra drove her elbow back, hitting his sternum and blowing the air from his chest. She turned again and grabbed him by his neck, fingers crushing his windpipe with furious strength. With a single heave, she picked him up and threw him into the air like he weighed nothing. He cartwheeled twice before crashing into a cement wall with a notable thump. When he moved Tetra stalked forward, finally pulling her blade out with intent. When she got to his side he was struggling to get up, wheezing loudly beneath his trenchcoat. She stooped and grabbed his hand, then pinned it to the wall. She forced his fingers out with her own, then tightened her grip on the weapon.

"Tet-"

She slammed the hatchet blade down on the wall, slicing the tips of three fingers off like she was preparing roast cuts. His voice raised to a wavering squeal of agony, one that made her grin in unhealthy pleasure. She stood and yanked him up, then forced him against the wall with her hatchet pressed against his neck. His cries lessened, but beneath the tears in his eyes she could see that adolescent fury building. Much as she wanted to hurt him, she needed him alive. His value as a streetear would be necessary to help uncover this threat to her comrades. She edged the blade against his skin, cutting so slightly the flesh above his arteries. He grimaced at the pain, but kept his attention focused on her.

"You fucking _listen to me_. I am _not_ going to take any more shit from you or that god-damn organization you're a part of! You're a Soldier first, got it?"

He nodded.

"Good, 'cause right now I need you to keep your ear to the ground. Someone kicked the shit out of a first class Soldier who had a _mastered magic materia_." She waited until the epiphany got to him before continuing. "Yes, it's that serious. I want to know who did it. We can't let a danger that big stay hidden. Consider it your number one priority, understand? Tell me you do."

"Y-Yeah."

"Good. Give me your hand."

He lifted the maimed limb, and she grabbed his wrist and focused on the materia orb she wore. It took only a moment to get the mantra she needed down, and she hummed it lightly while forcing her spiritual energy into the tune. Done, she pushed the mantra out of her soul and into Yan's, casting the spell to life. It materialized as green tendrils that coursed into the open wounds of his fingers. Flesh knit, blood clotted, and the spell left his hand mutilated, but closed and safe from infection. She dropped it and stepped back, wiping her hatchet off on her pant leg and sheathing the implement.

"You know what to do?" she asked him.

He nodded, but for his subservient expression his eyes still burned with anger. She didn't care how angry he was, only that he took this seriously.

"Then get going."

He walked away slowly, mutilated hand pressed against his chest, eyes tracking hers as he distanced himself. He only broke contact when he rounded a corner, and she heard him run away to fade from hearing. She opened and closed her hands several times, then kept them knit together. She wasn't adverse to violence. She rather enjoyed it, but right now she didn't need that mindset. She needed to be level headed to make a friendly show at the safehouse. It wouldn't do to anger the owner less she lose that constant source of food and medical goods. She took a deep breath, held it in, and exhaled slowly.

"Showing our comrade his place?" a voice asked, following by a light laugh. "Hehe. Amusing. Oh yes, an amusing show of authority."

Tetra did not look back until he was done, frozen in shock that someone was that close without alerting her to his being. She turned slowly, tense for any movement from behind, but safely stood face to face with a familiar man. A grin widened to a smile on his face like a cheshire cat, expressing confidence and command in one simple act. Recognition made her start, and he reached out to tilt her head up with one calloused finger, making a mockery of that loving gesture. He looked at her closely, eyes alit with the glow, almost on fire.

"Do I need such a gesture to prove myself to you?"

Tetra answered by opening her right hand, and the unseen spell was unleashed from within the palm. A bolt of lightning, crashing and blinding together, blasted into the Soldier and threw him several meters away. In the second it took for him to right himself, a dozen spells loosed themselves from her tongue. Shields and barriers to ward her body, mantras to race her nerves in impossible speed and purpose. So much! She dove into the depths of the orb, seeking out all the familiar invocations. She reached within herself and dug into the meat of her chakra, ushering forth the wrath of fire and ice to pummel the man. The two elemental spells exploded with terrific force, knocking the Soldier back into a wall, collapsing it as the energy was spent. When their fury was exhausted, her protective defenses prepared, she held up the hand with the materia to provide a visual focus and waited. Her talents lay in magic, and she wasn't going to let this advantage be wasted.

From the broken remnants of a shack emerged a smoldering body. He threw a large piece of some ashen rubble, aimed like an arrow for her head. Tetra resisted moving, preparing a spell even as the object shattered on the barrier only a foot in front of her face. Ready, she thrust out a powerful gravity spell at the Soldier who was, predictably, charging in the projectile's wake. The spell caught him and made him stumble down, collapsing onto his knees under the magnitude of weight. She walked up to him, lifted one boot back and swung with all her might at his chin. He was lifted into the air, suspended a moment right in front of her. Her punch, amplified with so many spells, knocked him backwards into the ruined building once more. Tetra resisted attacking further, hoping the Soldier understood her answer. Her anger faltered when his next action was to laugh.

"Who the hell are you!?" she demanded of him.

"Ahaha! That's quite an answer!" he stood once more, brushing off his clothes. "Oh yes, so suitable a reply, haha."

She took a step, hand up and firm. "Answer me!"

He rubbed his hands through his hair to get the grit out and to settle the locks. "You already know that, comrade."

She only flinched. In her mind, she recoiled in horror. He was awake the whole time? Awake, and healthy enough to survive all that? Then his whole journey had to have been staged, a show for her from the first moment! Meanings collided together, and it formed a frightening concept that made her reel. She has been playing to his whims from the beginning!

The Soldier smiled as if she'd explained those thoughts aloud. "That's right, one and the same."

"What do you want?" she asked after several strained seconds.

"Simplicity," was his reply.

Tetra stared incredulously at him. Simplicity? In what? What the hell did he want simplified?!

"Come with me," he added, turning around to walk away, "if you want to see."

Despite herself, and despite the logic rallying against this, she lowered her defenses and followed.

* * *

The Soldier led the way for quite some time, heading deep into the abandoned neighborhoods of Midgar. Tetra wasn't even certain they were still in sector one, having too few landmarks to show the way. He had remained silent despite her few short questions. She guessed he was the stoic type, or literally wanted to test how much she desired to 'see' his answer. And she did, she realized. Even though she had beaten him with spells and fists, he expressed no ill will towards her. The truth was, she believed he was the serial killer that the city was after. Only a Soldier would have the training and guts to do what this serial killer was purported to have done. Perhaps following him might get her some answers about what he was doing. She was curious, as a professional, what his objective was in hunting down those people. The line between lunacy and an effective Soldier was quite slim, so much that outside observations may have warped the truth of his actions. He might be acting in Soldier's best interest, after all. If he wasn't, though...

 _'Well, I_ do _have his materia. He can't touch me so long as I have that.'_

After a while the Soldier finally turned towards a house, a tiny shack among similar others in what could have been a respectable block in the slums. The door was open and he stepped inside as if coming home. Tetra followed right behind, her eyes adjusting to the darkness after a few seconds. The house was just a single room with broken dividers lying on the floor. A couch faced the window where a broken television sat on the floor. Curtains were drawn and other small windows boarded up, sealing the walls save the entrance. She looked around for any personal effects, but saw none. It was as anonymous as any wreck, no personality left from it's previous owner.

The Soldier grunted, looking back with an eye. "Lantern."

"Eh?"

He lifted a glass lantern up, still looking back. "Light it."

"Oh." She felt sheepish, realizing she had his source of fire.

She gestured at the lamp a quick spell, a spark of fire igniting the wick. Yellow light began to blossom, filling the room and exposing a third person with them. It was a man in a black suit, tied to a chair in what passed for the kitchen. He was slumped over, blood evident on his high forehead. Tetra wondered who he was, but felt her muscles tense when it became obvious. He was a victim. The _next_ victim. The Soldier set the lantern on a countertop, then stepped up to the man and raised his head up. He was young, clean shaven. The serial killer must have caught him recently. He stood aside while holding the man's head up, facing Tetra as if showing off a hunting trophy.

"Shall I wake him?" he asked.

"Why?" she asked automatically.

"So you can _see_ ," was his cryptic reply.

Tetra was uncertain about what this man had to do with the answer she sought, but found she had no choice now but to go along. She nodded. He slapped the man twice, hard. The man groaned, but otherwise was still out of it. The killer looked back at Tetra with a grin.

"Help him wake up, comrade."

She nodded, lifting her arm. She cast a minor healing spell, the aether essence making him sit up straighter and open his eyes. He took a breath and looked around, disoriented. When his eyes finally focused, seeing Tetra, all traces of his fatigue vanished like smoke from his features. Anger clenched his muscles, and his eyes widened in the same.

"Let me go," he asked evenly.

"Who-"

"Let me go you _bitch_!" he snarled, struggling against his restraints. He looked down at the ropes and flexed his hands, unable to do anything with them. He looked at her again and spat, the spittle missing by a wide margin. "Get these fucking ropes off me!"

"Can you see now?" the killer asked, moving to stand behind the chair, a hand on either side of the back.

The suit looked up at the serial killer with fear, but soon reverted back to Tetra. "So you're in on it, huh?"

"No."

"Don't fucking lie to me you cunt! What the fuck do you want?! Why the fuck did you kidnap me?!"

"I didn't-"

"Shut up! God-damn Soldiers, you're all a bunch of fuck-ups! You don't deserve to live! You oughta be tortured for the rest of your lives!"

"What-"

"I'll fuck you up, you slut. I'll fuck you literally, every fucking day. You'd like that, huh? Take my orders, bitch, I'm your commander now!"

Tetra scowled, getting sick of his tirade. "Give it a rest, buddy."

"Come on, you coward! Get these ropes off me and I'll kick your ass. You aren't so tough. I'll make you beg for mercy! I'll make you beg for my dick up your ass! How'd-"

"One more word!" she shouted over him. "And I'll-"

"You'll fucking _what_?!"

She thrust her hand out and cast, a bolt of lightning shocking the man where he sat. His yell of pain was high-pitched, leaving him hyperventilating with his head leaning back. Tetra strode forward and grabbed his hair, yanking his head forward. She placed the tip of her finger on the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes. He focused on that digit, then back at her, finally silent.

"Don't test me," she growled. She looked up at the killer, seeking something from him. "Who is he?"

"Nobody."

"What, a civilian?"

"My name's Erwen, you-"

She pushed her finger against his skin, and he actually whimpered and leaned back as far as he could. Tetra then let him go and stepped back. "What's your deal?"

"My name's Erwen Lancel," he repeated," and my deal is that I'm out to get you fuckers dealt with!"

"Us?"

"You Soldiers! The whole lot of you! You think you can fucking terrorize this city like it's your own? Who gave you the right, huh? Shinra? Bastard's dead now, isn't he? You fuckers gotta pay for what you've done! I'm the founder of the anti-Shinra movement, and we're gonna make sure every last one of you get it. Especially you fuckers."

"We didn't do-"

"Wutai! Corel, Junon, Gongana, hah, even fucking _Nibelheim_ got it from you bastards! You did all of Shinra's dirty work and you think you're innocent? You're all guilty, and the only thing you're gonna get is death!"

Tetra, for once, couldn't think of anything to say. It wasn't like she could refute his words, because they were the truth. She had done horrible things while under Shin-Ra's banner. Even now she was perpetuating the same crimes, the same deeds. She didn't even know whether or not she thought of herself as a Soldier. She wanted her comrades safe and for them to be accepted back into society, but she still used the Soldier title to get what she wanted and to justify her actions. Even just this night she was acting the perfect Soldier as if nothing was wrong. Beat those below you into submission, stick with your equals, look out for the higher ups. Did she really want to settle down and live in peace, live without war? Was she going to be a civilian like she wanted, or a Soldier like she acted? Her actions seemed to vouch for the latter.

"Aw, what's this? Catch a case of guilt? Ha, yeah right! You're just a fucking Soldier, through and through!"

Tetra actually felt shame at his accusation. She _was_ being a hypocrite, using her powers while refuting them. But she was more than just a Soldier, wasn't she?

"And so you see," the killer suddenly added in, "the truth."

She looked at the serial killer with a worried expression. "Truth?"

"About what we are. Can't you see it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Listen to his words. He has no power except for them. That's all the weak have, the noise they can make to warn others while we strike them down. They are as sheep, and we are wolves. Hunter and hunted. Predator and prey."

" _What?_ " she repeated.

"Quit talking over me you asshole!" the suit yelled up.

The killer looked down at his prisoner, a small smile on his face. "If you could kill her, would you?"

"What, her? In a fucking heartbeat!"

The ropes binding the man suddenly went slack, then fell to the sides. The killer stepped back, smiling wider. "Try, then."

He thought only for a moment on this, then stood up. He looked back at the killer as if wanting permission, but turned and focused on Tetra. He lifted his hands and cracked his knuckled purposefully.

"Don't do-"

Her warning came too late as he rushed forward, a fist leading his charge. Tetra froze between conflicting reactions, unable to move away from his wild attack. The punch hurt only mildly as it struck her jaw. She didn't even stumble. He doubled back with a left, then another right, seemingly confident of his effort as Tetra did nothing to prevent it. Her concern, foremost, was why the killer had set this into motion. He knew that man couldn't hurt her badly, and the man had to know it, too. What sort of message was the killer trying to get across to her via this man's vulgar hatred?

Hand suddenly wrapped around her neck and squeezed, the suit leaning closer with a growl. "Not gotta fight back, bitch?"

She reached up and plucked his hands off herself with casual effort. When he struggled she made sure to keep his hands rock steady to show that he wasn't a threat. "You're not worth my time."

He lurched back with his body, trying to get free. "Lemme go, damn it!"

"Why?"

"'Cause I'll kick your ass if you don't!"

"How?"

He snarled some filth, thrashing wildly. Tetra sighed, then let his hands go. He fell onto his ass when freed, but scrambled back up and punched her in the gut. He punched her over and over with both fists, grunting with every impact like a kid beating up an older bully. All of that amounted to taps to Tetra, hardly something to worry about. It was embarrassing how weak he was in comparison to her. Done with the farce, she grabbed him by the neck, lifted him up, and sat him back into the chair with a thump. When he tried to stand, she forced him back down with the tip of her hatchet between his eyes.

"Don't you get it?" she asked. "You aren't hurting me."

"But you're using that knife! Afraid to fight me without it?"

She crouched forward, placing herself into his personal space, the knifetip hovering in front of his left eye. "You're not in any position to call me on using a knife! You can't beat me hand to hand! You can't beat me at all!"

"Fuck you," was his reply.

The knifetip parted the skin above his eyebrow, a quick, clean cut along his forehead. The man held in a groan of pain, and Tetra let the blade linger in front of him, stained with his blood. "Still think you're better than me?"

Nothing but his angry glare.

She made another cut, growling in frustration. "Come on, you want me to cut you up?"

"Lemme _go_!" he screamed. He exploded up from the chair with arms flailing, managing to knock her hand with the hatchet away. She shoved him down bodily, putting the hatchet back in it's sheath. He tried again to stand and she slapped him across the cheek hard enough to knock him over. When he stood again she grabbed him by an arm, slapped him twice across both cheeks, and threw him back into the chair. He leapt up a third time, a hand grabbing his chair and lifting it with frightening speed. He swung it at her head and she frowned, wondering how he expected her to fall for such a theatrical trick. She caught it with her off hand, then used her dominant hand to chop down on the back of his wrist. He gazed at her with animal fright as he let go, hunched over with expectation of the chair being used on him. Tetra set it down on it's legs, then grabbed the man by his hands. She stood him up, then quickly locked his right arm and hit his elbow with the heel of her palm. The bone cracked loudly, and she whipped him around and did the same to his left arm within a second. His face was pale, mouth agape although he made no noise. She grabbed his neck, sat him back in his chair, and waited. When he didn't get back up she placed her head right next to his, chuckling with pleasure.

"Gonna give up now, _commander_?"

"F-Fuck you, you bitch."

Tetra stood back suddenly. He was crying, quivering in fear. He looked moments away from breaking apart and bawling like a baby. All those words, all his posturing, had disappeared in moments. He was scared shitless, terrified and barely in control of himself. He was, she realized, broken. Stuck in his tough guy persona, so vast and overwhelming that the only thing left to him was...nothing. She denied his every motive and effort, and without those, he had nothing left.

"And so _he_ sees," the killer spoke, stepping back into attention. He walked around and stood beside the stricken man, hands behind his back, staring down the length of his nose. "Don't you?"

"What do-" Tetra began, only to be silenced by a hand.

"Do you see now?" he asked again.

Erwen was trembling, arms limp and tears and snot staining his face. He murmured noises now and then, but merely huddled into himself on the chair. A minute passed by with every second marking a horrible thought or observation. It was unbearable by the time he began to make recognizable sounds. "I...I can't..."

"Yes you can. Now that you see, what do you want?"

He struggled to get the words out, but they came a stutter at a time. "K-Kill me."

The killer smiled as if those words were nourishment to his soul. "Ah yes."

"Kill me, _please_! It...it hurts so bad..."

The killer's eyes snapped to Tetra's. "Well, comrade?"

She gaped at his eager expression. "Well what?"

"Should he die?"

Her mind froze at that question. To contemplate such a thing as if choosing between heads or tails in a coin toss? Such disregard, such sociopathic displacement from the repercussions! He was the serial killer, of that Tetra doubted no more. She looked at the man, feeling sick to the stomach as he looked back with such longing, such hope for an end to his suffering. What did the killer do to him to make him this eager for death? No, what had _she_ done? She was just as responsible! The choice was hers as much as it was the killer's! She had humiliated him, had broken his arms like kindling sticks! She had stripped him of everything he had to continue on, and without them, was without hope. Whatever dream he had before this night, she had taken away. All that was left, all he _perceived_ to have left, was the end. She had robbed him of his last meaning of life!

"P-Please, I don't wanna be like this anymore," he sobbed. His cuts made it seem like he wept tears of blood.

"Make it easy on him, comrade," the killer whispered, a barely heard request, "we've done enough here."

She lifted up her hand with the materia, staring at it with horror. That's right, she thought, there was a way. A painless way.

" _Please..._ "

"W-What..." she stuttered out. She felt her hand begin to tremble, began to feel sick to her stomach. Why was she feeling this way? He was just another man, just another weakling! But she had tortured him for no reason. He had insulted her over and over, threatened to kill her, had tried! But he didn't stand a chance. He was a vulgar scumbag, a pathetic wretch! But he was just angry over the injustice he saw. What could he have done? Nothing. What had she just done?

 _Everything._

"Comrade?" the killer asked.

Tetra hiccuped, felt her eyes begin to water as she realized what she had done. She looked at the killer and a horrific idea plunging through her heart when she saw his curious expression.

 _'I'm no better than he is!'_

The killer approached her and put his hands on her shoulders. He held her gently, his eyes never leaving hers. "You can't do it?"

"I...I..."

He brought her forward in a brief embrace, then put his hands on her cheeks. "It's alright, comrade. I'll take care of it."

Suddenly his hands twisted her head violently and she felt something _snap_.

Everything fell out of place.

Tetra saw the floor, blurry and indescribable. Felt pain, felt nothing at all. Knew that something was amiss, knew that nothing was known. Felt a mind shriveling. Felt the world roar as it collapsed. Felt everything slipping away.

No longer knew what it meant to

No longer knew what

No longer

* * *

The killer stepped out of the house, a grim mood settled in his heart and soul. He fingered the bracelet on his arm, spinning it around his wrist and rubbing the orb as if to polish it's stainless sheen.

In the middle of the street he paused, then screamed at the stars with a monstrous push from his soul.

The home exploded like a tinderbox, flames rising a hundred feet into the air.

He didn't look at his handiwork. He took in several deep breaths, tried to reign in his anger but couldn't. Decided that the only thing for it was to leave and forget this ever happened.

"You try and make people see," he growled, each word a bitter curse, "and they choose to remain blind!"


	18. Deleted Scene Three

**: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _ **Deleted Scene**_

 _ **Zera and Varik**_

 _I originally wanted Zera to be an antagonistic foil to Varik's single-minded quest for vengeance against Shin-Ra. Her character arc is shown throughout the story, but I eventually wrote two chapter's worth of material in my second revision that starts with her lowest moments and ends with her actually killing Varik. Because that detracted from the overall plot of the story, I cut the most of that out and left her ambivalent to his methods in the end. This would have been the penultimate scene before she snaps and kills him._

* * *

Standing in front of his office felt like waiting to be escorted into an execution chamber. Zera stared at the fog-stained window, trying to peer through to the man inside. Trying, most of all, to see a reason for why she would try to talk about something rational to him. How could she? Varik was a lunatic who played by his own terrible rules and Zera was not going to let him use them against her. She was, after all, asking directly to get off the serial killer case, and he was completely focused on it. She might as well be telling him that she was going to quit! A quick glance showed that Desire was still nearby, giving her an expression that easily read her support. She looked back at the door, took a breath, and knocked. The door creaked open, surprising her until she realized it was unlatched.

"What?"

His voice sent a chill down her spine, but all her anger reacted and helped to push her fright away. She pushed the door open all the way to see Varik at his desk, legs propped up on the workspace, a cigarette in hand.

" _What_?" he asked again, eyeing her with a severe expression.

Zera stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "I need to talk to you."

He shrugged, eyebrows lifted in mute humor.

"I want to talk about the serial killer."

"Well, pull up a chair and talk, then."

She did just that, resting in the only other chair in the room. She smoothed her pant legs nervously, then looked him squarely to see his hand offering her one of his smokes. She accepted, and he struck a match and lit the cigarette in a genteel manner she didn't expect. She took a drag just as she recognized the musky odor, coughing and holding it out like poison. Loco weed! He was smoking weed on the job?!

"What, you don't smoke it?" he asked innocently.

"B-But-"

"'Course you do, Zera. What, you think anyone here cares?" He laughed, a dark and cynical thing. "Better'n drinking on the job, just cover it up with a cig. No one thinks twice."

She eyed him, emotions and thoughts erratic as she took in that she was sharing a joint with her captain. She took a shallow pull, savoring the sour-lemon taste. Good stuff.

"So talk already."

"I want off the case," she said directly.

"The serial killer?" It didn't seem like the request fazed him at all.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Zera was stunned at her casual replies. Wasn't this supposed to be a drawn out battle? Wasn't she supposed to be screaming at him as he screamed back, inches close to physical violence, inches closer to actually killing him? It wasn't the weed, she was just staring to feel that lethargy settle into her chest and legs. Then what was it? How was she being this calm around the man that was the focus of her every waking and sleeping nightmare?

"Lemme guess. You can't deal with the stress of looking for a killer without a clue to his whereabouts. You can't shake the images out of your head about what he's done. People crying for you to just wink an' make him disappear, and damn, wouldn't it be nice if it were that easy? Too much stress, too much anger, an' not enough booze in the world to dull it out. Plain, old-fashioned burnout. Your last legs finally gave up."

She stared at him, stunned by his rambling speech. Stunned by it's truth and it's clarity. Was she that transparent? That easy to read?

"Am I right, Zera?"

She jumped at her name, remembering the joint. She almost took another hit but stopped, reached and snubbed it out in an ashtray. No sense in letting the drug extinguish her passions when she would need them.

"You really want off the case?" he asked, watching her intently.

She met his gaze, trying to be angry, trying to force her prepared speeches to her lips, but nothing came. No anger, no speeches. Nothing. She stared, eyes wide, and felt like an animal trapped in the headlights of a car. Everything she had thought of to defend her position, to argue her case, was like smoke in the distance. He had, without any effort, dismissed her entire defense as if it were nothing but child's play. She saw that his eyes weren't bloodshot from the weed and not dulled by drink. He was in his natural state, entirely Varik, and she could not summon up any of that angry rhetoric. Her rational just fell apart at his feet like a badly constructed house of cards, but she still had to answer.

"Yes."

He took a deliberate moment before replying. "Alright."

Zera nearly bolted out of her chair in shock. "Alright?!"

"Take some time off an' I'll get you off the case. Next week or somethin'. Relax for once, right?"

Where was her voice? Was she going to say _anything_ to him or let the conversation go one one-sided? "B-But-"

"Since we're talking about it, there's some rich sonofabitch who's daughter got raped, some bigwig business type. Your kinda work, ain't it? Shit, we might not have the good lab, but you're good at doin' work on the fly. You'll be fine."

" _But don't you care_!?" she finally yelled in a ghostly anger.

"I do," he replied with full understanding. "Don't think I'm doing this because I'm a softie at heart, Zera. You are a rolling wreck, everyone knows it, and I've been waitin' for you to grow the balls to come here. This is for the benefit of the department. You get to do what you do best, you even out, and things run smooth as ice, right? One more kink outta the machine."

"But you just _left her there_!" she said strongly, feeling the hatred start to kindle.

"And I'll do it as many times as necessary to do my job!" He lowered his legs, sat upright, and leaned forward. "Don't mistake me, Zera. I _am_ the monster you've built me up to be, but this monster will get the job done."

"Y-You son of a...!" she stammered.

"Yeah yeah, me." He gestured at the door with a wave. "Get outta here. Get laid, get some sleep, and _relax_. If you come back like you are now, I ain't gonna hold back my punches."

"You can't just ignore what you did!"

He snorted out a laugh. "I haven't. I remember each an' every one of them, and I know this city is safer for it. Complain if you want, but it's the truth."

"The _truth_ is you can't _prove_ they were guilty! You're just using this as an excuse to murder people! To take out your anger against Shin-Ra!"

"And if I am?"

Zera faltered in her reply, mouth agape at his question. What did he just say? Did he just dare her to call him out on it? To actually accuse him of assaulting and likely killing an innocent woman?

"Tell you what," he continued, standing from his desk. "If you can prove that I did what you think I did, I'll take the blame. How 'bout it?"

"You'd-"

"Prove that that Soldier was innocent and I'll plead guilty, got it? Evidence, witnesses, records, the whole lot. If it proves it, if it's the _truth_ , then I'll go."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Not for you," he answered in a strict tone. "For justice. For what the sector police stands for. For every god-damn, sugar-coated rational that comes with the badge, Zera, _everything_."

 _'Everything?'_

He walked around the desk and opened the door, holding it for her. She stood up, light-headed, whether from the shock of all this or the weed, she couldn't tell, and looked at him. Oak-brown eyes tried to peer through blue-steel ones, and nothing passed between then that wasn't spoken aloud. She squared her shoulders and mustered up the willpower to walk, passing him by without a word or second glance. She walked through the floor, past her desk and others, ignoring their looks and Desire's questions. She walked through the lobby and pushed both doors open to the world beyond, to the hum of humanity's toils and the skittering wind. Down the short flight of stairs, past a man in a suit walking up them. Across a half-finished sidewalk and into the street.

Into a world she no longer recognized.


	19. Deleted Scene Four

**: : The Past RE-Concluded : :**

 _ **Deleted Scene**_

 _ **A Typical Turk Morning**_

 _This scene is the most conflicting one I have written for this story because I really, really wanted to use it. I wrote it in my first revision after the serial killer escapes, so it would be difficult to try and shoehorn it into RE-Concluded. I'd have to leave out or modify a good chunk of dialogue, and after several attempts it just ruined the flow of the scene. Since I couldn't find a place for it in the main story, now it exists as bonus material. The BEST bonus material saved for last!_

* * *

Elena snapped out of sleep when she heard her bedroom door slam open. She bolted up, hand reaching for the pistol underneath her pillow while looking for the intruder. It didn't take long.

"Yo 'Lena, where's the extra conditioner!?"

Her eyes got wide, unable to fully comprehend what she was seeing. Reno was standing in the doorjamb, a towel around his skinny waist, dripping wet. Her hand let go of the weapon.

"Well?" he repeated.

Laughter erupted from her before she could restrain herself. She clamped her mouth shut, but was literally shaking with giggles. The redhead turned a furious shade of his hair color before slamming the door closed, but this only prompted Elena to laugh even more. It took nearly a minute before she caught her breath, and she was still giggling despite herself.

 _'Oh god, what a girly man! Wait, that's probably why my conditioner's ran out! I'm gonna kill him for that! Oh, who needs to, I know his dirty little secret now!'_

After a few minutes she managed to calm herself down. She didn't care that she still had twenty minutes of earned sleep to enjoy, having seen Reno acting like a prissy princess was worth it. She got out of bed and turned the alarm clock off, then performed her ablutions before going into the kitchen to start breakfast. Ever since Reno settled down with them, the calm routine she and Rude enjoyed in the past was now part of it. A full pot of coffee was already brewing thanks to his unhealthy appetite for the stuff. The refrigerator, once modestly filled, was choked with beer; the freezer box finally saw use when she noticed it full of vodka. Digging around the bottles brought out some bacon and eggs, which she promptly set to cook on the range. Toast was set. She spent spare minutes cleaning off the table and tossing trash into the wastebin. Reno was like a force of nature in that he left ruin wherever he strode. She shuddered to imagine what his old place must have looked like, considering.

As if summoned by her silent complaints, the redhead walked out from his shared bedroom with a scowl. "Why don't you keep any extra conditioner around?"

"I don't use a lot of it, unlike you," she retorted from the countertop, not looking back.

Reno scoffed at the remark. "Feh. Explains your hair, then."

"Oh, this is rich. You're gonna critique me about my hair, mister?"

"Hey, I take care of mine. It's my best feature!"

"Not like your little love-marks?" she jibed.

He shrugged. "Hey, scars are scars."

"Not the way you obsess over them they aren't."

"Whatever."

Elena shook her head. The mystery that was Reno was hardly worth the effort to understand. She mentally added the description 'narcissist' to the list of things about him, though.

"Anyway, what's to eat?"

"Bacon, eggs and toast, same as usual."

He sighed audibly from her side, and she glanced to see him pull a beer out of the fridge. "Damn it, I'd kill for some steak about now."

"Steak?!" she gasped.

"Girlie, steak an' eggs is the breakfast of champions!" He cracked the beer open and took down a swig. "Same with leftover pizza, Wutaian, an' beer."

Elena tried to think of something to explain his insane habits, but all of it condensed to the ancient rationale: men! "Sure..."

"I am, thanks," was his glib remark.

She put his banter aside and concentrated on the stovetop, removing the bacon to soak on paper towels and cracking eggs into the grease. She rubbed her forehead where a scab still itched beneath a band-aid, all that was left from the fight with the Soldiers. A cup of coffee slid next to her, and she picked it up for a sip; he remembered to add cream this time. She flipped the eggs to cook over easy, then scraped them from the pan and placed them on the toast. Three plates were balanced on her arms as she walked to the table, sliding each to their owners. Rude had snuck in without her knowing despite the early start, clean shaven and all. Reno tore into his breakfast like a starved prisoner, hardly pausing while she got her mug and another for Rude. She sat and bit into the egg sandwich, adding in more pepper as an afterthought.

"Good grub, 'Lena!" Reno said between mouthfuls, albeit you could hardly tell.

"Thanks," she muttered.

"Was there any word from sector police?" Rude asked the table.

"Nah," the redhead spoke up. "He's smarter than I thought. Probably won't rat us out anytime soon."

Rude murmured assent while drinking.

"Still gotta talk to the 'boss' about what to do now, though."

"We'll probably go back to hunting the serial killer on our own," Elena added in.

"Probably!" Reno drawled, then drank down the rest of his beer. "Hey Rude, what about our Soldier girl? Anything about her?"

"She was released from the hospital last night. I assume that Reeve will want us to meet together to discuss what she saw."

"Hopefully she won't be so clamped up about it this time."

"I think she'll be ready to talk."

Reno glanced at him while wiping his lips with a paper napkin. "Got a hunch, huh?"

"No, she seems willing to speak about it lately."

"Willing, huh?"

Rude nearly continued, but glanced at Reno and promptly shut his mouth. Elena looked and saw the redhead's eyes gleaming. It took a moment, but her eyes rolled automatically when it hit: here comes the birth of today's running joke.

"Does our dear Rude know something we don't? A little insider information, maybe? A little something between him and her...?" He nearly leapt out of his seat when a blush could be seen on Rude's face. "Oh! There it is, damning evidence an' all! I knew it! Who'd a' thought Rude would be givin' the Soldier girl conjugal visits?! We finally have proof that Rude is a man!"

"Give it a rest, Reno," Elena groused.

"Nah nah, look at him! He's all embarrassed! Come on, dude, we're happy for you! Aren't we, girlie?"

"Speak for yourself!"

"See?"

Rude merely focused on his plate, eating slowly and methodically.

The redhead sent a sidelong glance towards her. "Well, looks like it's the quiet treatment for us, 'Lena. We've made him speechless, _again_."

" _You_ did!"

"You could'a stood up for the guy!" He lifted a hand before Elena railed at him. "Kidding, kidding! I know it's my fault."

"If I only believed you."

"Have faith in me, girlie, I'll learn my lesson one day."

"Sure..."

He stood, shaking his head with dramatic despair. "Critics! Can't please 'em!"

Elena sighed at the sincerity of his performance. Sometimes she wondered what life must be like for him, thinking that the universe centered around him and he was the epitome of human creation. The sheer arrogance and bravado he exuded! How anyone managed to get along with him was a mystery.

 _'Of course that doesn't make us look any better.'_

She finished her breakfast and dumped the flatware into the sink. While going to the shower, she frowned.

 _'Right. No conditioner. Dammit, Reno!'_


End file.
